fflEX  LIBRIS 


A  Study  of  Hope 
at  Blagdon 


TROUT  FISHING 
MEMORIES  AND  MORALS 


BY 

H.   T.    SHERINGHAM 

ANGLING  EDITOR  OF   "  THB  FIELD," 

AUTHOR  or  "ELEMENTS  or  ANGLING,"  "AN  ANGLER'S  HOURS,' 

"AN  OPEN  CREEL,"  "COARSE  PISHING," 

"  SYLLABUB  FARM,"  ETC. 


BOSTON   AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN   COMPANY 


PRINTED   IN    GREAT    BRITAIN    BY 

RICHARD  CLAY  &  SONS,   LIMITED, 

BRUNSWICK  ST.,  STAMFORD  ST.,  8.E.  1, 

AND  UUNOAY,  SUFFOLK. 


TO 

GUY  C.  POLLOCK 

"We  twa  hae  paidl't  i'  the  burn 
From  morniri'  sun  till  dine  . 


9383 


PREFACE 

THE  framework  of  this  book  was  put  together 
in  the  year  1915,  the  building  of  it  being  to  a 
great  extent  a  distraction  from  the  stresses  of 
war.  For  various  reasons  the  book  could  not  be 
completed  till  last  year,  when  many  changes  had 
come  about.  So  speedily,  however,  do  things 
move  nowadays  that  it  now  goes  out  into  a  world 
which  is  vastly  different,  not  only  from  the  world 
of  1915,  but  even  from  the  world  of  a  few  months 
ago,  and  I  am  in  some  doubt  whether  it  should  not 
have  contained  an  appendix  of  trout-fishing  econo- 
mics— the  wonderful  prices  achieved  by  split-cane 
rods,  the  kaleidoscopic  changes  in  the  ownership  of 
lands  and  the  waters  thereof,  the  ridiculous  new 
position  of  sixpence,  the  inadequate  size  of  fishing 
inns,  the  dearth  of  trout  for  restocking,  and  so  on. 

But  I  have  decided  that  worthy  handling  of 
some  of  these  interesting  phenomena  is  beyond 
me,  while  others  will  receive  adjustment  at  the 
hands  of  time  and  so  do  not  call  for  special  con- 
sideration. Hence  I  add  no  appendix. 

The  world,  by  the  signs  of  the  day,  is  turning, 
or  being  turned,  upside  down,  and  in  a  few  years 
we  may  all  be  at  the  Antipodes  of  our  former 
states,  as  old  Sir  Thomas  Browne  might  have  said. 
But  it  is  some  comfort  to  me  that  the  real  Anti- 
podes are  now  very  well  furnished  with  trout. 


vi  PREFACE 

That  being  so,  the  figurative  Antipodes  will  surely 
not  be  without  them.  The  future,  therefore,  need 
not  be  wholly  strange  and  alarming. 

I  find  comfort,  too,  in  another  reflection.  The 
number  of  anglers  has  increased  prodigiously 
in  a  short  year  or  two,  and  they  will  certainly 
look  after  their  own  interests.  That  problem 
of  new  waters  to  which  I  give  brief  and  inade- 
quate consideration  in  the  fourteenth  chapter  will 
no  doubt  be  solved  within  the  next  generation. 
Obviously  trout-fishers  must  fish  somewhere.  As 
for  the  rest  of  it  a  will  must  find  a  way.  Here  is 
a  moral.  Some  of  the  prettiest  little  fly-rods  I 
ever  saw  were  made  by  a  friend  of  mine  out  of  the 
canes  you  use  in  gardening  as  supports  for  chrys- 
anthemums and  other  herbage.  The  material  for 
them  cost  about  2s.  6d.  per  rod  all  told.  Now  I 
suppose  it  would  cost  5s.  But  we  can  save  up. 

Anyhow,  come  what  may,  even  a  tax  on  the  air 
we  breathe  and  a  rise  in  the  price  of  the  dust  in 
which  we  walk,  we  trout-fishers  will  somehow 
manage  to  go  on  fishing.  And,  if  it  be  not  in- 
decent to  say  so,  I  hope  we  shall  all  go  on  reading 
books  about  the  sport ! 

H.  T.  S. 

March  1920. 

NOTE. — I  have  to  express  my  gratitude  to  The  Field  for 
permission  to  employ  a  good  deal  of  material  which  I  originally 
published  in  its  columns,  and  to  The  Cornhill  Magazine  for 
similar  indulgence  in  regard  to  Chapter  III. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   I 

PAOB 

EARLY   DAYS 1 

CHAPTER  II 
SOME  TINY   WATERS         .......          19 

CHAPTER  III 
A    LITTLE  CHALK   STREAM 39 

CHAPTER  IV 
THE    FISHING   DAY 59 

CHAPTER  V 
THE   EVENING 75 

CHAPTER  VI 
THE   FLY   QUESTION 95 

CHAPTER  VII 
SOME  CONTROVERSIES 119 

CHAPTER  VIII 
MINNOW  AND   WORM       .......       142 

CHAPTER  IX 
THOUGHTS   ON   BIG   FISH 160 

CHAPTER  X 

IN   A   WELSH   VALLEY      .......       177 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XI 

PAOB 

THE  DUFFER'S  FORTNIGHT     .         .  .  .     198 

CHAPTER  XII 
A   PECK   OF  TROUBLES 224 

CHAPTER  XIII 
WEATHER  AND   WIND      .  .  .  .  .  .  .251 

CHAPTER  XIV 
NEW   WATERS 267 

CHAPTER  XV 
ODDS   AND   ENDS    .  283 


CHAPTER  I 

EARLY    DAYS 

THE  confession  is,  perhaps,  ignominious;  but  for 
some  time  after  I  first  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  trout  I  pursued  it  with  what  the  law  calls 
"  engines."  A  set-line,  a  butterfly-net,  a  fishing 
weir  or  "  obstruction,"  a  landing-net — it  is  an  unholy 
progression  from  bad  to  worse.  There  is,  however, 
one  sin  which  I  have  not  upon  my  conscience,  the 
sin  of  tickling.  Proudly  I  can  assert  that  never  in 
all  my  days  did  I  tickle  a  trout.  In  a  lower  tone, 
if  any  one  insists  on  the  point,  I  may  add  that  I 
never  succeeded  in  finding  a  trout  that  would  abide 
the  preliminaries  to  the  operation.  The  fault  no 
doubt  was  mine.  But  mine,  also,  is  the  honour. 
I  find  in  the  Fly  Fishers'  Club  and  other  centres  of 
efficiency  that  there  is  a  certain  distinction  attaching 
to  the  man  who  has  never  tickled  a  trout.  That 
he  should  have  arrived  at  a  fair  comprehension  of 
the  dry  fly  without  this  previous  training  in  subtlety 
is  a  somewhat  notable  thing.  But  he  would  never 
do  for  a  chairman  at  the  annual  dinner.  He  would 
have  nothing,  or  almost  nothing,  of  which  to  repent 
him  with  tears  in  his  voice. 


;  ;    TROUT  FISHING 

All  the  same,  I  remember  that  my  fishing  weir 
was  an  ingenious  and  effective  thing.  I  built  it  on 
a  tributary  of  the  Tweed  one  foot  wide,  and  after- 
wards applied  the  principle  to  a  more  considerable 
river  in  Gloucestershire  which  needed  a  bucket 
earnestly  used  in  the  after-emptying.  But  the  net 
result  of  both  engineering  feats  was  only  one  trout 
about  four  inches  long,  the  same  which  I  had  marked 
down  in  the  daughter  stream  of  Tweed,  and  which 
set  me  on  the  building  of  my  dam.  And  at  this 
time  of  day  I  will  not  swear  that  even  that  trout 
was  not  a  parr.  It  had  lovely  red  spots,  and  I  tried 
in  vain  to  keep  it  alive  in  some  receptacle  as  a  pet. 
The  Gloucestershire  foray  was  troutless,  but  not 
therefore  a  failure.  What  eels  !  My  heart  warms 
to  the  thought  of  them. 

Dear  reader,  if  you  have  never,  at  the  age  of  nine 
or  thereabouts,  pursued  an  eel  about  the  liquid 
mud  of  a  nearly  baled-out  pool  in  a  little  Gloucester- 
shire brook,  you  have,  I  assure  you,  never  really 
lived.  Shouting  with  excitement,  a  "  mask  of 
mud  "  (as  old-fashioned  domestics  used  to  put  it), 
you  pursue  the  creature  from  corner  to  corner,  from 
end  to  end,  often  getting  a  sort  of  grip  of  him,  as 
often  losing  it.  It  is  some  time  before  you  appreciate 
the  inwardness  of  eel-catching,  which  consists  in 
getting  your  hooked  fingers  under  his  middle  where 
he  balances  and  hoisting  him  promptly  ashore. 


EARLY  DAYS  3 

There  your  companion  swiftly  transfers  him  to  a 
sack,  that  is  if  you  are  the  master-mind.  If  not,  if 
there  is  no  great  difference  in  ruling  capacity 
between  you,  your  companion  will  probably  be  in 
the  mud,  too.  And  two  eels  out  of  the  three  will 
escape  over  the  lower  dam.  There  is  a  third  alter- 
native which  places  you  on  the  bank,  but  it  is  less 
dignified,  and  I  will  not  dwell  on  it,  even  though  it 
means  an  eel  or  so  more  in  the  narrative. 

Besides,  there  will  be  quite  enough  eels  in  the 
narrative  ere  I  have  finished.  Once  in  it,  they  are 
as  bad  to  get  out  as  they  are  in  a  nearly -baled  pool. 
There  was  great  plenty  of  eels  in  that  part  of 
Gloucestershire,  and  many  a  time  did  I  set  out  to 
capture  them  from  one  of  the  insignificant  ditches 
into  which  they  made  their  way.  I  used  to  wonder 
how  they  came  there,  for,  take  it  all  in  all,  it  was  a 
fishless  part  of  the  world.  The  brook  I  have  men- 
tioned, and  two  or  three  ponds — I  cannot  remember 
any  other  waters  close  at  hand  which  held  anything. 
But  in  all  the  ditches,  however  small,  which  contained 
water  there  were  small  eels,  whose  presence  I 
understand  well  enough  now.  The  boundary  of  the 
county  was  not  far  away,  and  it  was  nothing  less 
than  the  Severn,  the  greatest  elver  river  in  the  land. 
It  was  tidal  down  there,  to  be  sure,  but  doubtless 
the  elvers  ran  up  every  streamlet  which  joined  it, 
and  so  made  their  way  as  far  as  they  could  get. 


4  TROUT  FISHING 

There  were  two  or  three  even  in  the  Holy  Well,  a 
wonderful  little  pool  of  crystal  water  lying  behind 
a  bush  on  the  right  hand  of  the  road  as  you  go  from 
the  vicarage  to  the  church.  What  a  road  to  a  child 
newly  escaped  from  London !  The  very  dust 
seemed  to  be  sweet-scented.  And  there  were  dog- 
roses  in  the  hedges,  and  baby  rabbits  which  you 
could  very  nearly  catch.  But  the  eels  were  the 
greatest  adventure  to  me.  I  could  not  catch  them 
either,  the  well  being  too  deep.  I  remember  them 
with  affection,  with  the  delightful  dust  and  the  dog- 
roses.  Refer  at  si  Jupiter  annos  ! 

To  try  and  get  back  to  somewhere  within  range 
of  my  subject — the  eel  is  in  my  opinion  almost  the 
worst  enemy  that  the  trout  has.  Not  nearly  enough 
stress  has  been  laid  upon  him  by  the  professors  of 
aquiculture.  They  have  thundered  against  the 
chub  and  fulminated  against  the  pike,  but  about  the 
eel  they  have,  for  the  most  part,  said  little  or  nothing. 
This  is  probably  because  about  the  eel  they  know 
little  or  nothing.  I  do  not  know  much  myself,  but 
very  early  in  life  and  within  a  short  half-mile  of  the 
Holy  Well  mentioned,  I  had  an  experience  which 
taught  me  the  abilities  of  the  eel.  There  was  an 
old  fish  pond  which  had  formerly  been  made  for 
a  small  monastic  establishment,  and  was  now  the 
property  of  a  farm.  It  was  full  of  fish — carp  and 
roach — and  there  was  reason  to  suspect  that  it  also 


EARLY  DAYS  5 

held  some  pike — the  disappearance  of  ducklings  and 
other  phenomena  had  to  be  accounted  for. 

With  grown-up  assistance  I  made  an  attempt  to 
catch  one  of  these  alleged  pike,  using  live  roach  which 
came  from  the  pond  and  such  primitive  tackle  as 
was  available.  We  got  plenty  of  runs — in  fact, 
it  was  a  rare  thing  for  the  bait  to  be  in  the  water 
for  more  than  half  an  hour  without  being  attacked. 
I  had  small  knowledge  of  pike  in  those  days,  or  I 
should  have  suspected  the  curious  and  vacillating 
behaviour  of  the  float,  its  bobs  and  dips  and  brief 
inconclusive  movements  of  a  foot  or  two  at  a  time. 
But,  as  things  were,  when,  after  many  runs  which 
came  to  nothing,  we  succeeded  in  landing  a  great 
eel  of  some  three  pounds,  I  was  much  surprised.  We 
got  others  afterwards,  but  nothing  much  bigger, 
though  one  or  two  breakages  suggested  the  presence 
of  monsters  in  the  pool.  What  has  remained  in 
my  mind  chiefly,  however,  is  not  the  sum  total  of 
success,  but  the  broad  facts  of  the  case.  These 
were  that  the  baits  we  used  were  not  less  than  seven 
or  eight  inches  in  length,  that  the  eels  would  attack 
them  in  broad  daylight  and  also  in  mid-water,  and, 
further,  that  this  cannot  have  been  for  lack  of  food 
because  the  pond,  as  I  have  said,  was  plentifully 
stocked  with  roach.  All  this  proves  conclusively, 
to  my  thinking,  what  a  ravening  creature  the  eel 
is.  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  that  the  eels  of  New 


6  TROUT   FISHING 

Zealand,  which  grow  to  a  weight  of  thirty  pounds  or 
so,  have  the  reputation  of  being  dangerous  to  human 
beings,  seizing  them  by  the  foot  as  they  swim, 
drowning  them,  and,  later,  devouring  them  piece- 
meal. 

The  trouble  with  the  eel,  so  far  as  trout  preserva- 
tion is  concerned,  is  that  you  may  never  know  he  is 
there  at  all.  A  friend  of  mine  stocked  a  pool  with 
yearling  rainbows.  They  disappeared,  and  the 
misfortune  was  not  unnaturally  attributed  to  the 
habit  of  the  race,  which  is  to  disappear.  But  it 
seemed  odd  that  they  should  have  answered  to  the 
call  of  the  blood  so  young — as  a  rule  they  tolerate 
existence  in  an  inclosed  water  till  they  have  attained 
their  fourth  year.  And,  doubtless,  they  would  have 
done  so  in  this  case  also,  but  when  the  water  was 
drained  off  on  the  chance  of  another  solution,  a 
colony  of  three-pound  eels  was  discovered,  and  it 
was  evident  where  the  little  rainbows  had  gone  to. 
In  a  river  or  a  big  lake  the  presence  of  eels  may  not 
be  so  much  of  a  danger,  but  it  is  obvious  that  a 
small  pool  may  be  quite  unfit  habitation  for  trout 
until  steps  have  been  taken  to  eradicate  the  eels. 
How  this  is  to  be  done  depends  on  circumstances. 
If  the  water  can  be  run  off  easily  the  eels  can  be 
got  out  wholesale.  If  not,  night-lines  and  eel 
traps  may  gradually  thin  their  numbers.  Of  course, 
the  draining  of  the  pond  would  be  best,  because  it 


EARLY  DAYS  7 

would  serve  a  double  purpose.  The  eels  would 
be  abolished  and,  if  the  bed  of  the  pool  were  left 
dry  for  a  few  months,  a  plentiful  crop  of  weeds 
would  spring  up,  and  the  trout  when  introduced 
would  start  their  career  with  splendid  feeding 
grounds. 

How  are  you  to  find  out  if  there  are  eels  in  a 
pond  ?  Obviously  by  setting  half  a  dozen  night-lines 
every  evening  for  a  week  in  July  or  August.  Bait 
them  with  lobworm,  and  if  there  is  no  sign  of  a  bite 
and  no  eel  on  a  hook  at  the  end  of  the  week  you  may 
pretty  safely  conclude  that  there  are  no  eels  in  the 
water.  It  is  not  only  eels  that  may  escape  notice 
in  a  pool.  I  once  caught  eight  pike  in  a  day,  and 
ran  a  good  many  others,  on  a  small  lake  in  which,  as 
every  one  supposed,  there  were  only  perch  and  roach 
of  no  great  size.  On  another  day  I  got  about  a 
dozen  eels  there.  Of  course,  the  water  had  hardly 
ever  been  fished,  or  the  pike,  at  any  rate,  would 
soon  have  been  noticed,  being  rather  visible  objects 
when  basking  in  hot  weather  or  when  on  the  feed 
in  cold. 

It  does  not  follow  that  when  you  have  abolished 
your  eels  you  will  have  abated  the  nuisance  for  ever. 
Probably  others  will  appear  when  the  pond  is  filled 
up  again.  Elvers  can  creep  in  anywhere,  and  if 
that  be  not  enough,  I  have  no  doubt  that  mature 
eels  can  and  will  travel  overland  on  dewy  or  moist 


8  TROUT  FISHING 

nights.  There  is  no  accounting  for  the  presence 
of  eels  in  some  places  unless  this  ability  of  land- 
voyaging  be  conceded.  But  even  if  the  creatures 
do  get  back  in  time  the  trout  will  at  any  rate  have 
had  a  fair  start,  and  a  chance  of  making  -enough 
growth  to  be  secure  from  attack.  I  fancy  that  eels 
in  ponds  do  not  gain  weight  so  rapidly  as  trout,  and 
a  three-pounder  has  probably  been  in  his  pond  for 
a  considerable  time.  But  it  is  risky  to  give  opinions 
about  eels.  Their  life-history  is  even  less  intelligible 
than  that  of  the  salmon,  of  which  it  is  the  diametrical 
opposite  in  the  matter  of  migrations  and  breeding. 
Old  big  eels  in  fresh  water  are  said  to  be  barren,  but 
that  is  not,  to  me,  a  very  satisfactory  solution  of 
their  long  sojourn  in  fresh  water.  When  you  come 
to  think  of  it,  it  is  hard  to  support  a  charge  of 
barrenness  against  any  fish  at  all.  Habit  of  inter- 
mittent or  deferred  breeding,  perhaps,  but  barren- 
ness ?  The  word  is  too  lightly  employed.  I  almost 
doubt  if  it  is  in  Nature's  dictionary,  unless  man's 
civilisation  and  man's  fool-tricks  have  added  it  in 
the  supplement  of  improvements. 

Of  late  the  eel  has  received  much  attention  as  a 
useful  item  in  the  national  food-supply.  I  do  not 
question  his  merits,  even  in  opposition  to  some  other 
fresh-water  fish — roach,  for  instance.  But  if  it 
comes  to  weighing  his  importance  against  that  of 
trout  it  is  obvious  that  he  is  the  less  valuable  fish. 


EARLY  DAYS  9 

As  a  result  of  war  there  is  a  tendency  now  to  calcu- 
late things  in  terms  of  market-supply,  and  there,  it 
may  be,  eels  make  a  braver  show  than  trout.  But 
the  sporting  factor  counts  for  a  great  deal  and,  I 
hope,  always  will.  There  the  trout  has  the  advan- 
tage. After  all  there  is  plenty  of  room  in  this 
country  for  developing  the  eel-fisheries  very  greatly 
without  interfering  with  trout,  so  there  is  not  likely 
to  be  any  danger  of  a  conflict  of  interests.  But 
enough  of  eels. 

One  of  the  bravest  days  that  ever  I  had  was  on 
the  same  brook  near  the  Severn  Sea.  Another 
boy  and  two  landing  nets  formed  my  assistants,  the 
other  boy  really  being  the  prime  mover.  Oddly 
enough,  I  have  forgotten  both  his  name  and  face, 
which  is  ungrateful  of  me,  for  he  was  a  handy  fellow 
with  a  net  in  a  brook,  and  I  believe  he  let  me  take 
all  the  trout — a  dozen  there  must  have  been — home 
with  me.  I  remember  the  fishing  much  more 
vividly  than  anything  else,  how  we  prodded  under 
tree  roots  and  sloping  banks,  and  how  ejected  trout 
came  with  a  thud  into  the  waiting  net.  I  remember, 
also,  a  little  fall  near  the  farm  which  we  drew  blank, 
and  were  much  surprised  thereat,  until  we  discovered 
a  sort  of  secret  drawer  at  the  back  of  the  foam. 
Thence  came  the  biggest  trout  of  the  day.  I  have 
always  considered  him  a  pound  and  a  half.  He 
bulked  large  among  the  others. 


10  TROUT  FISHING 

I  remember  that  day  also,  because  some  years 
later  I  sat  down  to  immortalise  it  in  what  I  con- 
sidered prose,  and  because  to  my  intense  pride  the 

result  was  actually  published  by ,  but  I  will  not 

give  the  journal  away  for  doing  a  kindness  to  me. 
I  am  sure  the  article  must  have  been  full  of  "  spotted 
beauties,"  and  "  finny  denizens,"  and  "  old  Sol,"  and 
things  of  that  kind.  It  should  have  joined  my 
other  early  efforts  in  the  waste-paper  basket  or  the 
fire.  But,  under  Providence,  I  believe  it  set  me  on 
the  business  of  writing  instead  of  some  useful 
occupation,  such  as  studying  torts  and  turbary, 
whereby  men  rise  to  affluence  and  office. 

I  believe,  also,  that  the  day  which  it  purported 
to  describe  made  me  for  ever  a  lover  of  small  streams 
rather  than  big  ones,  of  odd  corners  rather  than  the 
open  river.  I  love  to  find  a  trout  cruising  about 
with  his  nose  just  outside  the  scum  at  a  hatch,  I 
glory  in  a  fish  which  lies  with  his  head  pointed  the 
wrong  way  by  reason  of  some  back- wash,  and  if  it 
is  at  any  time  possible  to  pursue  a  by-stream  instead 
of  the  main  river  I  pursue  it.  There  is  the  additional 
reason  that  I  think  the  fish  are  easier  to  catch,  and 
sometimes  rather  bigger,  in  the  carriers,  but  there  is 
a  genuine  affection  for  insignificance  which  moves 
me  too. 

Nearly  forty  years  of  angling  give  a  man  a  host  of 
memories,  and  I  remember  many  tiny  streams  in 


EARLY  DAYS  11 

the  landscape  of  the  past,  all  fascinating  in  their 
way,  and  some  of  them  curious.  There  was  one 
which  meandered  into  the  sea  in  a  Pembrokeshire 
bay,  tolerably  well  known  now,  but  in  those  days  a 
long  way  from  railways  and  the  general  public.  I 
do  not  remember  ever  catching  a  fish  out  of  that 
stream. 

It  ran — at  any  rate,  all  of  it  which  I  explored— 
sinuously  through  the  marshy  flats  and  its  banks 
quaked  like  anything.  Even  the  most  cautious 
approach  to  the  water  seemed  to  spread  a  panic 
among  its  inhabitants,  and  I  could  see  their  vanish- 
ing forms  just  leaving  every  corner  when  I  got  to  it. 
The  tragedy  of  it  was  that  they  were  much  longer 
than  the  forms  which  used  occasionally  to  vanish 
before  me  in  the  proper  river  a  mile  away.  Doubtless 
they  were  not  very  big  fish,  but  very  likely  they 
may  have  averaged  a  quarter  of  a  pound,  which  is 
considerable  for  that  part  of  the  world.  Just 
often  enough  to  keep  my  determination  alive  I  got 
the  pull  of  one,  usually  by  dibbling  a  worm  over  the 
bank  before  I  approached  it,  a  proceeding  calling 
for  self-restraint.  The  pull  would  be  full  of  vigour 
and  impressive,  but  it  never  came  to  anything. 
I  was  a  trout  fisher  then  of  the  fortiter  in  re 
type,  which  scores  no  great  successes  in  circum- 
stances where  subtlety  is  required.  Besides,  the 
excitement  of  a  bite  after  long  disappointment 


12  TROUT  FISHING 

no  doubt  made  me  previous  as  well  as  violent  in 
striking. 

It  is  curious  how  places  and  events  are  associated 
in  one's  mind  with  odd  scraps  of  irrelevance.  When 
I  was  fishing  that  stream  I  was  also  every  morning 
engaged  in  the  business  of  constructing  Latin  verses 
under  the  eye  of  my  dear  old  grandfather,  whose 
chief  ambition  it  was,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  to 
make  a  scholar  of  me. 

"  Carpite  dum  liceat  vos  nymphae  serta  rosarum," 

Never  while  I  live  shall  I  forget  that  rendering 
of  Herrick's  "  Gather  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may." 
I  think  it  must  have  been  my  rendering  after  it  had 
been  "  castigated,"  but  I  am  not  sure.  It  may  have 
been  a  model  line  out  of  Arundines  Cami,  or  one  of 
the  other  authorities,  in  which  case  I  ought  not  to 
speak  of  it  with  disrespect.  But  the  useful  little 
word  "  vos  "  coming  in  so  pat  to  ease  the  scansion 
reminds  me  of  my  own  Latin  verse  policy,  which 
followed  lines  of  least  resistance,  especially  when  I 
thought  of  the  trout  in  the  stream  with  rush-grown, 
quaking  banks.  "  Old  Time  is  still  a-flying."  I 
am  afraid  I  used  cordially  to  endorse  that  statement 
many  a  morning  in  those  lodgings  by  the  sea.  Time 
was  flying,  I  thought,  and  though  I  was  no  amateur 
of  roses  I  badly  wanted  to  be  gathering  trout,  which 
came  to  much  the  same  thing  in  point  of  philosophy. 


EARLY  DAYS  13 

Boyhood  has  no  prescience.  What  would  I  not 
give  now  for  a  morning's  verse-making  with  the  dear 
old  gentleman,  or  even — which  used  to  be  perhaps, 
and  would  now  be  certainly,  more  terrifying — an 
hour  or  two  of  wrestling  with  the  obscure  and  tedious 
narrative  of  Thucydides  ! 

But  in  the  afternoon,  the  tasks  all  done,  I  would 
certainly  make  my  way  to  that  strange  streamlet 
and  endeavour  to  prove  that  the  years  which  have 
robbed  me  of  almost  every  particle  of  Greek  have 
done  something  to  improve  my  fishing.  I  think 
I  know  how  to  catch  those  trout  now.  It  is  a  slow 
business,  but  it  can  be  done.  The  angler  has  to 
grow  into  the  landscape  like  a  post  or  a  willow  tree. 
After  a  time  the  fish  get  accustomed  to  him  and 
return  to  their  places.  Then  he  delivers  his  orange 
partridge  or  his  blue  upright  with  an  underhand 
cast,  and  lo,  the  legend  of  their  being  uncatchable 
is  disproved. 

It  is  easy,  you  may  say,  to  theorise  when  one  is 
safe  removed  from  an  emergency  by  many  years 
and  much  country.  And  so  it  is.  But  it  is  not  all 
theory.  I  have  proved  this  waiting  game  often 
enough,  and  in  all  kinds  of  water.  The  shallows 
of  a  tiny  brook,  the  sluggish  reach  with  quaking 
banks,  the  dead  unruffled  flat — such  places  are  often, 
a  scene  of  tumult  on  an  angler's  approach,  and  long 
ere  he  can  extend  enough  line  to  cover  them.  His 


14  TROUT  FISHING 

policy  in  each  case  is  to  select  a  point  of  vantage  and 
wait  there  till  the  trouble  is  over.  It  wastes  time 
no  doubt  if  he  is  for  filling  the  creel,  and  he  might 
do  better  in  point  of  numbers  if  he  sought  easier 
places.  There  is,  however,  a  great  satisfaction  in 
solving  a  problem. 

I  have  often  chuckled  at  the  theologian  who, 
meeting  a  difficulty,  looked  it  boldly  in  the  face— 
and  passed  on,  but  I  can  seldom  emulate  him  in 
trout  fishing.  I  always  have  to  prove  that  the 
difficulty  is  my  master  before  I  can  pass  on.  Some- 
times, of  course,  there  is  a  happier  issue  to  the 
contest.  There  was  once  a  singularly  perfect  cast 
which  I  made  on  the  Windrush  in  Mayfly  time.  A 
good  trout  was  rising  in  a  fiendish  place,  between 
two  willows  which  both  drooped  into  the  water,  and 
under  a  low  bough.  My  fly  evaded  the  willows,  shot 
under  the  bough,  and  floated  beautifully  over  the 
desired  spot,  the  amount  of  slack  line  required 
having  been  calculated  to  a  nicety.  "  Ah,"  said  my 
friend  and  host,  "  if  only  that  had  happened  ten 
casts  ago  !  "  There  had  been  previous  attempts,  I 
must  own,  and  perhaps  even  a  little  splashing.  The 
trout,  for  all  I  know,  is  still  in  the  same  holt. 

Of  another  tiny  stream  I  have  also  an  oddly 
detached  memory  which  is  associated  with  a  regret. 
It,  too,  was  on  the  coast,  running  into  the  sea  within 
view  of  the  Isle  of  Wight.  I  had  fished  it  for  a 


EARLY   DAYS  15 

fortnight  on  and  off  during  tropical  weather  and  had 
had  remarkable  sport  considering  everything — one 
of  the  things  to  be  considered  being  that  it  was 
apparently  a  discovery  on  my  part  that  it  held 
trout  at  all.  The  particular  memory,  however,  is 
not  so  much  of  the  fishing  as  of  a  notable  thunder- 
storm which  raged  the  whole  of  one  night.  We  were 
awake  for  hours  watching  the  lightning  as  it  played 
about  the  Needles,  a  wonderful  sight.  It  was  not, 
however,  this  impressive  display  alone  that  kept  me 
awake,  it  was  the  thought  of  the  fishing  which  would 
follow  such  welcome  rain.  I  made  sure  of  a  day 
which  would  beat  all  my  previous  records  and  which 
would  prove  my  theory  correct  that  a  brook  but  a 
yard  wide  may  contain  pounders  and  better  if  you 
put  it  to  the  proof.  Alas,  I  never  did  put  it  to  the 
proof  for  unexpected  events  made  it  necessary  for 
me  to  depart  on  the  day  after  the  storm.  I  think 
I  had  touched  fourteen  ounces,  however,  which  was 
something. 

I  have  another  odd  memory  of  the  same  stream. 
One  day  as  I  was  following  it  up,  fly-rod  in  hand,  I 
came  on  another  youth  of  somewhere  near  my  own 
age  who  was  engaged  in  a  queer  form  of  fishing.  He 
was  apparently  employing  expensive  gut  casts  as 
set-lines,  and  seemed  to  have  adorned  each  with 
fragments  of  cork.  He  had  no  rod,  and  I  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  was  the  sort  of  individual  who 


16  TROUT  FISHING 

would  be  a  poacher  if  he  knew  how,  but  who, 
fortunately,  did  not  know  and  would  have  some 
difficulty  in  learning.  I  scorned  him  silently  and 
passed  on.  Oddly  enough,  some  years  later,  I 
traced  this  amateur  poacher  in  a  valued  friend  of 
later  date,  and  found  that  he  retained  a  memory  of 
an  offensive  person  with  a  fishing-rod  who  had  once 
passed  him  on  the  side  of  that  little  stream.  A 
casual  naming  of  the  locality  made  the  incident  leap 
to  both  our  minds.  My  friend  certainly  is  no  fisher- 
man, so  my  early  instinct  had  been  correct.  But 
it  was  a  good  thing  that  I  did  not  give  expression  to 
it,  for  he  has  ever  been  a  singularly  capable  boxer, 
and  my  first  introduction  to  him  might  have  been 
less  propitious  than  it  was. 

One  learns  something  new  from  every  fresh  water 
one  visits  if  Fate  is  at  all  amiable.  I  remember 
one  lesson  which  that  streamlet  taught  me,  I  think 
for  the  first  time,  the  lesson  that  sometimes  one 
must  depend  entirely  on  the  sense  of  touch  for 
notice  of  a  rise.  There  was  a  deep  run  under  a 
high  bank  (of  course,  to  bring  the  water  "  to  scale  " 
I  ought  to  insist  on  inches  rather  than  feet),  and  it 
turned  a  sharp  corner  at  the  bottom  end.  Two  or 
three  times  I  had  spoilt  my  chances  there  by  trying 
to  see  over  the  bank  as  I  fished,  to  the  great  con- 
sternation of  the  half-pounder  which  I  yearned  to 
catch.  At  last  I  decided  that  I  must  cast  round 


EARLY  DAYS  17 

the  corner  upstream  at  a  venture  and  trust  to  luck 
for  the  issue.  This  plan  succeeded.  I  do  not 
know  how  I  became  aware  that  something  was 
withholding  my  black  gnat  from  me,  but  I  did  be- 
come aware  of  it,  the  rod  went  up,  and  the  half- 
pounder  in  due  course  was  mine.  After  more  than 
twenty  years  that  fish  still  gives  me  a  thrill  of 
satisfaction. 

In  those  days  I  had  not  yet  come  to  the  dry  fly 
so  the  black  gnat  was  fished  wet,  but  since  then  I 
have  occasionally  had  a  similar  experience  with  a 
floating  fly.  It  is,  however,  much  harder  to  detect 
a  rise  round  a  corner  in  dry-fly  fishing  unless  you  can 
hear  it  or  catch  sight  of  the  advance  party  of  the 
betraying  rings.  I  do  not  pin  much  hope  on  a 
round-the-corner  attack  as  a  rule.  With  the  wet 
fly  there  is  more  chance.  The  line  is,  or  should  be, 
fairly  taut  from  the  rod-point,  which  is  raised  as  the 
fly  comes  downstream,  and  when  a  fish  takes  the 
fact  may  be  notified  by  a  check  to  the  line,  or 
possibly  by  a  definite  sensation  of  stoppage  which  is 
perceptible  to  the  hand.  A  very  slight  thing  ought 
to  be  perceptible  if  an  angler  is  on  the  alert,  and 
though  he  possibly  could  not  express  it  more  exactly 
than  by  saying  that  "  something  is  different  some- 
how," it  has  enough  effect  to  make  him  strike,  which 
is  all  that  is  wanted.  The  sense  of  touch  is  much 
more  delicate  than  most  people  suppose,  and  it 


18  TROUT  FISHING 

may  even  be  possible  that  a  small  vibration  is  set 
up  from  the  fish  to  the  hand,  enough  to  give  warning 
of  a  rise  without  the  need  for  anything  so  definite 
as  a  pull.  Often  one  knows,  just  too  late,  that  a 
trout  has  been  at  one's  fly  though  one  has  never 
seen  or  definitely  "  felt  "  the  attack. 


CHAPTER  II 

SOME   TINY   WATERS 

IT  would  take  me  several  volumes  to  record  at 
all  adequately  my  gratitude  to  the  lesser  streams 
which  have  given  me  delightful  days  in  various  parts 
of  the  country.  Some  of  them  have  wandered 
slowly  through  the  heavy  land  of  the  Midlands,  and 
their  trout  have  been  few  and  far  between,  but  all 
the  more  prized  for  that.  When  the  worm — for  I 
take  no  shame  in  owning  to  the  worm  for  some  of 
these  brooks — has  been  cannily  dropped  through 
the  opening  between  the  thorn  branches,  has  trickled 
down  the  narrow  neck  into  the  little  round  pool, 
and  then  come  to  rest,  there  is  a  time  of  anxious 
expectation  before  you  decide  that  the  pool  is  tenant- 
less,  and  that  you  had  better  go  on  to  the  next  likely 
spot.  Or  you  may  have  the  good  fortune  of  an 
almost  immediate  bite,  which  takes  the  form  of  a 
preliminary  twitch,  another,  and  then  of  a  steady 
pull,  which  makes  the  line  cut  the  water  as  the  fish 
moves  off  with  the  bait,  probably  taking  it  back  to 
the  retreat  whence  he  emerged.  If  you  strike  when 
he  is  fairly  on  the  run  with  it  you  ought  to  have  him, 

19 


20  TROUT  FISHING 

especially  if  you  are  using  Stewart  or  Pennell  tackle, 
though  I  must  own  that,  as  a  rule,  I  have  found  two 
hooks  somewhat  too  many  for  these  brooks,  which 
are  apt  to  contain  far  more  snags  than  trout. 

They  sometimes  contain  other  things,  too.  The 
very  last  time,  I  think,  that  I  fished  such  a  stream — 
it  was  not  long  before  the  war  began — my  day's 
fishing  yielded  one  small  dace,  a  ridiculous  eel,  and 
a  fat  minnow.  The  last  was  the  result  of  much 
patient  work  in  a  very  promising  pool  under  a  willow. 
I  was  induced  to  persevere  by  occasional  twitches 
at  the  rod-point,  which  suggested  a  trout  of  vacillat- 
ing disposition — I  have  known  plenty  of  fish  like 
that  in  free  and  unpreserved  waters — but  in  the 
end  the  minnow  somehow  got  attached  to  the  hook, 
though  it  was  rather  a  large  one.  After  that  of 
course  I  fished  with  him,  but  it  was  of  no  avail. 
But  for  a  momentary  glimpse  of  a  three-quarter- 
pounder,  which  fled  from  a  shallow  corner  at 
my  approach,  I  had  no  experience  of  trout  that 
day. 

Yet  it  was  by  no  means  a  day  wasted.  I  counted, 
as  I  fled  from,  at  least  a  dozen  wasps'  nests.  I  had 
a  leisured  lunch  in  the  sun  on  a  comfortable  sheep- 
bridge,  and  all  the  time  I  gloried  in  the  minuteness 
of  the  stream.  It  was  no  more  than  six  feet  wide 
anywhere,  and  it  made  me  a  boy  again  for  the  time 
being.  As  I  came  to  each  pool  in  turn  I  had  the 


SOME  TINY  WATERS  21 

old  thrill  of  excitement.  "  There  must  be  a  trout 
here.  If  I  can  only  dodge  that  bramble  and  get 
the  worm  under  the  root.  .  .  ."  The  mental 
process  will  be  the  same  if  one  lives  to  be  a  hundred 
and  is  still  capable  of  angling  then. 

I  have,  of  course,  often  wished  that  these  odd 
neglected  little  brooks  had  been  rather  better  sup- 
plied with  fish,  and  yet  I  am  not  sure  that  their  very 
poverty  is  not  part  of  their  attraction.  If  one  could 
be  sure  of  pulling  a  half-pounder  out  of  every  pool 
the  pursuit  would,  perhaps,  lose  some  of  its  zest. 
But  when  thirty  pools  yield  no  more  than  three 
bites  or  other  signs  of  fish,  a  trout  becomes  an  event. 
"  I  got  two  trout  from  the  brook  on  Tuesday,"  you 
will  say  in  a  tone  of  studious  modesty,  and  the  other 
fellow  will  return  a  "  Did  you,  though  ?  "  which  is 
more  than  a  little  gratifying. 

This  is  not  the  best  conceivable  state  of  such  a 
brook,  of  course,  and  if  I  had  the  opportunity  of 
dealing  with  one  freely  I  should  make  an  earnest 
endeavour  to  improve  it  and  make  it  into  a  fly- water 
of  an  amusing,  if  insignificant,  kind.  Very  much 
could  be  done  in  this  way  by  introducing  suitable 
weeds — a  property  in  which  many  such  streams  are 
lacking — cutting  bushes  and  boughs,  though  not 
too  lavishly,  and  clearing  the  pools  of  some  of  their 
rushes  and  other  useless  encumbrances.  Here  and 
there  small  dams  would  be  useful,  here  and  there  a 


22  TROUT  FISHING 

few  minutes  with  a  spade  would  improve  the  tiny 
shallows;  here  and  there  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
to  remove  some  mud.  When  one  had  worked  faith- 
fully for  a  week  or  two  it  would  pay  to  introduce 
some  more  trout,  yearlings  if  one  had  patience  to 
await  their  growth.  And  in  the  end,  with  a  small 
rod  and,  say,  a  ten-inch  limit,  one  might  have  very 
pretty  sport  and  occasionally  capture  a  fish  of 
good  size.  On  the  brooklet  where  my  chief  capture 
was  the  minnow  some  one  once  had  a  four-pounder, 
and  several  have  been  taken  over  two  pounds.  The 
stream  is  certainly  one  of  the  smallest  which  optim- 
ism could  associate  with  trout  at  all. 

I  do  not  know  how  many  small  trout  streams  of 
this  kind  there  are  in  the  flatter  portion  of  England, 
but  I  think  they  must  be  quite  numerous,  a  large 
proportion  of  them  being  hardly  realised.  Travel 
out  of  London  in  any  direction,  and  you  will  see 
frequent  lines  of  willows  which  mark  the  course 
of  some  streamlet  of  the  same  type.  It  may,  of 
course,  be  polluted  and  useless,  or  it  may  be  too 
nearly  allied  to  some  coarse-fish  river  to  give  the 
nobler  species  a  chance.  But  in,  I  believe,  the 
majority  of  cases  every  such  brook  is  potentially 
a  trout  stream  and  capable  of  giving  sport  of  a  kind 
not  to  be  despised.  For  the  moment,  of  course, 
I  speak  of  districts  away  from  the  chalk.  In  the 
chalk  districts  the  trout-bearing  possibilities  of 


SOME    TINY  WATERS  23 

every  rill  are  well  enough  understood.  The  spark- 
ling water  is  in  itself  a  proof  of  them. 

But  the  brooks  of  the  clay  and  other  less  promising 
localities  look  more  like  the  sluggish  rivers  which 
they  ultimately  join,  and  suggest  bream  and  eels. 
Unless,  therefore,  a  man  has  by  some  chance  dis- 
covered that  they  may  hold  trout,  it  would  not 
occur  to  him  to  study  them  with  that  object.  They 
are  bound  to  be  found  out  and  developed  in  time, 
since  the  demand  for  trout  fishing  in  accessible 
places  is  much  greater  than  the  present  supply, 
and  the  man  who  once  tries  it  will  probably  find 
that  the  sport  provided  by  such  streamlets  has 
features  of  its  own  which  are  not  to  be  matched  in 
any  other  kind  of  water.  The  very  difficulties  of 
fishing,  which  are  often  immense  because  the  water 
is  nearly  always  much  bushed  in  places,  are  an 
attraction.  Possibly  the  survival  of  the  trout  at  all 
in  a  brook  of  the  kind  is  due  to  this  growth  on  the 
banks.  It  is  worth  remembering  that  herons  are 
rather  shy  of  the  much-bushed  parts  of  little  streams. 
Herons  can  play  the  mischief  with  trout  which  have 
no  protection.  From  the  fishing  point  of  view  I 
would  always  have  a  brook  pretty  difficult.  "  Plenty 
of  fish,  but  very  hard  to  catch  "  is,  it  seems  to 
me,  a  very  good  character  for  a  small  stream  to 
have. 

The  description  of  a  day  on  another  brook,  slightly 


24  TROUT  FISHING 

bigger  than  that  which  yielded  me  a  minnow,  a 
dace,  and  an  eel,  and  much  better  furnished  with 
trout,  may  be  worth  giving,  since  it  illustrates  some 
of  the  difficulties  which  attend  the  brook-fisher. 

"  Difficulties,"  I  said  to  myself  airily,  "  add  to 
the  fascination  of  angling.  This  stream  was  quite 
beyond  me  last  time,  but  now  I'm  prepared  for  it 
and  know  what  to  expect."  Last  time  had  been 
five  years  before  and  a  rod  of  ten  feet  three  inches 
had  been  greatly  prejudicial  to  success.  For  the 
brook  winds  along  like  a  very  sinuous  serpent 
between  lofty  banks  on  top  of  which  is  an  almost 
unbroken  succession  of  trees  and  bushes.  It  presents 
a  delightful  little  pool  at  every  corner  with  a  pretty 
little  ripple  running  into  every  pool,  but  all  my  efforts 
had  failed  to  get  a  trout  out  of  it ;  though  several 
had  come  at  a  cochybonddu,  when  I  managed  to 
get  it  onto  the  water  after  many  struggles,  all  had 
kicked  themselves  off  before  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  how  to  get  them  out.  I  came  home  "  clean," 
and  with  a  great  respect  for  the  accomplished  angler 
who,  as  I  had  been  told,  always  managed  to  get  a 
dish  whenever  he  visited  the  place.  I  had  noted  his 
traces  here  and  there  in  the  clearing  that  had  been 
done.  It  was  enough  to  make  some  of  the  pools 
approachable  for  a  very  clever  fisherman  with  a  very 
little  rod,  but  it  was  of  no  use  to  a  bungler  with 
more  than  ten  feet  of  split  cane  in  his  hand. 


SOME  TINY  WATERS  25 

At  my  second  visit  I  was  more  suitably  armed  so 
far  as  the  rod  went,  a  little  gem  of  seven  feet  which 
was  really  the  result  of  that  earlier  experience. 
Though  I  had  not  had  to  fish  such  a  stream  since, 
I  had  determined  not  to  be  found  unprepared  in  the 
event  of  such  an  opportunity  coming  my  way. 
And  meanwhile,  on  more  open  though  equally  small 
waters,  I  had  tested  the  tiny  rod's  qualities  and  found 
them  most  satisfactory.  So,  if  the  rod  could  do  it, 
the  stream  was  going  to  learn  who  was  master. 
There  was  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  of  water 
at  my  disposal  (so  curly  that  a  straight  line  from 
top  to  bottom  would  be  but  600  yards  or  so)  and 
I  determined  to  get  in  at  the  bottom  and  fish  up- 
stream wet  or  dry  as  circumstances  might  suggest. 
Here  and  there  it  might  be  too  deep  to  wade,  in 
which  case  I  could  clamber  out  and  start  again 
above. 

I  began  "  as  per  programme,"  having  solved  the 
problem  of  reaching  the  water  at  the  boundary  by 
tobogganing  involuntarily  down  the  high  bank  and 
entering  the  stream  with  a  splash  and  a  severe  shock 
to  my  system.  While  I  was  recovering  from  the 
resultant  palpitations  I  was  startled  by  the  sound 
of  some  great  animal  rushing  down  upon  me.  "  The 
bull,"  I  ejaculated  in  horror  and  surprise.  For 
I  had,  as  I  thought,  located  that  animal  two  meadows 
away,  and  had  very  carefully  left  him  undisturbed. 


26  TROUT  FISHING 

The  gates  were  open  but  I  had  hoped  he  would  stay 
where  he  was.  So  far  as  I  know  he  was  staying 
there.  It  was  not  the  bull,  but  merely  the  bank, 
which  had  caught  the  infection  from  my  example 
and  was  tobogganing  on  its  own  account. 

I  then  felt  a  nervous  desire  to  imagine  the  sort 
of  story  Mr.  Algernon  Blackwood  or  Mr.  Hope 
Hodgson  might  make  out  of  the  incident.  There 
is  a  pool  on  a  salmon  river  of  my  acquaintance  which 
is  called  "  Sliding  Braes,"  and  it  occurred  to  me 
that  a  peculiarly  frightful  ghost  story  might  be  hung 
onto  such  a  name.  Imagine  the  angler,  in  the 
gathering  dusk,  pursued  by  a  bank  !  "  And  then, 
in  that  extraordinary  hush,  which  I  can  only  describe 
as  a  vortex  of  silence  in  which  I  was  the  helpless 
centre,  I  knew  that  something  was  going  to  happen 
Looking  up  from  where  I  was,  waist-deep,  I  saw 
as  it  were  an  undulation,  an  expanding  and  con- 
tracting of  the  solid  clay  that  frowned  down  upon 
me.  Frowned — that  is  the  word.  It  was  literally 
a  frown.  If  you  can  imagine  eyebrows  twenty 
yards  long  !  What  happened  afterwards  I  shall 
never  clearly  remember.  That  portentous  face 
seemed  to  grow  upwards  and  outwards.  It  bulged 
at  me  as  you  may  have  seen  the  face  of  Aeolus 
bulging  in  old  prints.  Great  swollen  cheeks  !  And 
then  came  the  sliding  down.  The  great  slab 
lips  .  .  ." 


SOME  TINY  WATERS  27 

However,  I  am  not  telling  the  story  of  Sliding 
Braes,  if  there  is  one,  and  I  had  better  get  on  to 
what  I  am  telling.  The  first  pool,  one  of  the  best 
on  the  water  as  I  had  been  told,  was  too  much 
shaken  up  by  the  violent  approach  of  me  and  the 
bank,  so  I  made  as  if  to  wade  through  it,  so  that 
I  might  approach  the  next.  But  it  was  just  too 
deep,  and  I  had  to  clamber  out  again  at  once,  no 
light  job.  I  began  to  realise  that  the  atmosphere 
was  oppressive  and  thundery,  when  I  found  the 
net  clinging  to  a  briar  and  the  rod  entangled  in  a 
low-hanging  oak  bough.  Eventually,  however,  I 
was  up  and  out  and  able  to  descend,  a  second  time, 
above  the  pool.  Then  I  began  my  fishing. 

The  manner  of  the  fishing  was  this.     Crouching 
as  low  as  possible  I  got  into  position  for  the  glide 
at  the  tail  of  a  pool  in  which  instinct  assured  me 
there  would  be  a  half-pounder  waiting  all  ready 
for  the   cochybonddu.     It  might  be  a  matter  of 
four  yards  away.     So  far  arrived  I  began  to  lengthen 
line  for  the  cast.     When  line  was  about  half  length- 
ened there  was   a   hitch.     The  cochybonddu   had 
come  to  rest  overhead.     At  that  moment  I  saw  my 
half-pounder.     He    was    proceeding    upstream,    to 
vanish  beneath  a  root  under  the  left  bank.     Drawing 
myself  up  to  full  height  (as  they  do  in  the  novels, 
but  seldom,  I  warrant  them,  with  such  relief  to 
the  smalls  of  their  backs)  I  caught  hold  of  the  line 


28  TROUT  FISHING 

and  tugged,  first  gently,  then  with  more  determina- 
tion. Later  I  looked  out  a  fresh  cast  and  a  clean 
cochybonddu.  After  these  delays  I  came  to  the 
ripple  at  the  head  of  the  pool,  got  a  fly  onto  it 
at  the  twelfth  attempt  and  was  rewarded  by  the 
sort  of  "  wink  under  water "  that  recalls  the 
proverb  Ars  longa  trutta  brevis,  which  means, 
the  longer  you  take  to  cover  a  fish  the  shorter  he 
rises. 

The  next  pool  was  round  a  corner.  I  prospected 
with  one  eye  (no  more)  and  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  scurrying  forms.  Nothing  more  happened 
there,  for  it  was  only  a  small  pool  and  they  scurried 
all  over  it.  Above  was  a  short  stickle  and  then 
deep  dark  water  on  which  I  could  see  beautiful 
spreading  rings  often  repeated.  I  could  hear  the 
"  plopping "  of  a  really  noble  trout.  Nothing 
under  a  pound  makes  all  that  noise.  But  these 
manifestations  were  happening  in  the  middle  of  a 
bush.  Not  only  could  a  fly  not  be  got  into  it; 
it  even  stopped  the  onward  progress  of  a  by  now 
infuriated  angler  who  had  to  clamber  out  of  the 
ravine  once  more. 

How  often  I  got  in  and  out  during  the  next  quarter 
mile  I  do  not  know.  It  was  very  often.  Now 
and  then  a  pool  was  too  deep  to  be  passed,  now  and 
then  it  was  choked  with  boskage,  now  and  then  a 
fallen  tree  lay  all  across  it.  One  thing  had  become 


SOME  TINY  WATERS  29 

disconcertingly  plain.  The  clever  angler  had  done 
no  clearing  this  long  while.  The  stream  had  been 
difficult  enough  five  years  before.  Now  it  was  appal- 
ling. I  shudder  to  think  what  it  cost  me  in  cochy- 
bonddus.  Occasionally  I  got  the  feeblest  kind 
of  offer  from  some  fish  whose  isolated  position  pre- 
vented him  from  knowing  about  the  panic  which 
possessed  all  the  others.  But  the  sort  of  rise  he 
made  proved  that  there  was  suspicion  in  the  air. 
The  whole  business  was  of  course  aggravated  by 
the  impossibility  of  casting  what  you  could  call  a 
line.  The  trees  and  bushes  were  so  thick  and  mostly 
hung  so  near  the  water  that  the  only  method  by 
which  a  fly  could  be  got  out  was  by  "  catapulting  " 
it.  And  that  can  only  be  done  with  quite  a  short 
line.  I  had  one  consolation  such  as  it  was.  The 
periodical  thunder  showers  that  enlivened  the  earlier 
hours  came  at  me  viciously  but  quite  in  vain.  Not 
theirs  the  power  to  penetrate  the  jungle  in  which  I 
crept. 

It  would  be  about  3  p.m.  that  I  decided  that  I  was 
beaten  and  climbed  heavily  out  to  the  upper  air.  I 
would  have  no  more  of  that  sub-silvestrian  foolish- 
ness. I  would  go  home  and  say  that  there  was 
thunder  in  the  air,  on  which  account  the  fish  were 
out  of  humour.  As  I  went  I  would  look  into  such 
pools  as  were  approachable  and  see  what  might  be 
seen.  I  approached  the  first  and  gazed  boldly 


30  TROUT  FISHING 

down  into  it.  There  was  a  trout  immediately  below 
me,  and  we  were  apparently  looking  at  each  other. 
Sardonically  I  plumped  the  cochybonddu  down  onto 
his  nose.  He  took  it.  I  pulled  him  out  of  two 
bushes  and  a  hole  and  swung  him  up  the  precipice 
into  the  meadow.  He  was  quite  half  a  pound. 
This  occurred  again  a  little  higher  up,  and  I  had 
a  brace.  Presently  I  had  two  brace.  And  then 
I  sat  down  on  a  knoll  overlooking  a  half-moon  shaped 
pool  two  yards  and  a  half  wide  and  five  or  six  yards 
long.  Comfortably  and  leisurely  I  dibbled  three 
more  here.  And  from  a  pool  just  below  it  I  got 
a  beautiful  pounder.  I  should  mention  that  I 
happened  to  have  a  worm  with  me,  and  I  may  as 
well  confess  that  there  was  another  worm  as  well 
and  that  another  fish  fancied  it.  But  all  the  others 
were  caught  on  the  artificial  fly,  if  it  can  still  be  so 
called  in  spite  of  the  manner  of  its  presentation. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  tea  time  I  am  confident  that 
I  should  have  got  the  catch  up  to  double  figures. 
There  may  have  been  a  third  worm  in  the  tin.  Also 
I  had  found  myself  the  brook's  master  in  spite  of 
everything. 

But  how  or  why  it  happened  like  that  I  cannot 
explain.  I  had  another  day  there  afterwards, 
pursued  the  same  bold  policy  of  the  successful 
afternoon,  and  terrified  the  trout  into  non-existence. 
Just  one  fish  rewarded  me  and  for  him  I  crept  and 


SOME  TINY  WATERS  31 

crawled  most  abjectly.     It  is  a  very  queer  little 
brook  indeed. 

Mostly,  as  I  have  hinted,  I  have  found  the  worm 
the  best  and  easiest  bait  for  the  brooks.  The  arti- 
ficial fly  may  be  of  service  in  places,  but  it  is  much 
more  limited  by  the  geography  of  the  stream.  Pro- 
bably, if  you  stick  rigidly  to  the  fly,  you  will  have 
to  leave  a  good  half  of  the  water  untouched,  since 
you  simply  cannot  get  a  fly  to  it.  A  worm,  however, 
can  be  insinuated  into  almost  any  nook,  and,  if 
not,  it  can  be  swum  downstream  with  the  aid  of 
a  small  float.  Other  methods  of  getting  at  the 
fish  are  dapping  with  a  bluebottle,  grasshopper, 
or  other  handy  insect,  and  drop-minnow  fishing. 
Both  are  more  artistic  than  worm  fishing,  but 
dapping  may  be  a  slow  business  if  the  trout  are 
scarce.  The  drop-minnow  is  perhaps  the  best 
thing  of  all  for  brook  fishing  if  you  can  get  the  baits. 
I  prefer  the  old-fashioned  hook  for  it  in  such  waters, 
a  No.  6  or  No.  7  with  a  leaded  shank.  You  can 
make  an  efficient  hook  yourself  easily  with  a  little 
lead  wire.  The  hook  link  is  threaded  through  the 
minnow  from  mouth  to  tail,  the  lead  lies  in  the 
gullet,  and  the  hook  point  projects  from  the  mouth. 
You  can  strike  with  this  hook  quite  as  quickly 
as  you  do  with  a  worm,  and  there  is  no  great  danger 
of  a  small  fish  gorging  the  bait.  For  more  open 
waters,  however,  I  rather  prefer  a  drop-minnow 


32  TROUT   FISHING 

tackle  which  has  a  triangle  somewhere  outside  the 
bait;  there  are  several  good  patterns  on  the 
market. 

Very  different  from  these  south-country  stream- 
lets are  their  cousins  of  the  north  and  west,  the 
threads  of  moisture  that  make  their  way  down  from 
the  moors  to  join  some  rapid  mountain  stream. 
It  is  marvellous  how  some  of  these  burns  manage 
to  support  a  head  of  trout  at  all.     When  they  are  dry 
they  are  very,  very  dry ;   what  little  water  remains 
in  the   depressions,   which  by   courtesy   one   calls 
pools,  seems  almost  too  stale,  as  well  as  too  shallow, 
to  keep  anything  with  gills  alive;    one  realises  the 
value  of  water  weeds  by  seeing  what  happens  to  a 
little  burn,  where  there  are  none,  after  a  drought. 
Weeds  must  be  almost  as  important  to  oxygenate 
water  as  movement  and  exposure  to  the  air.     But 
these  burns  have  no  weeds,  and  they  get  very  stale, 
indeed,  so  stale  that  I  think  their  trout  must  forsake 
them  and  wander  away  into  the  heather.     At  any 
rate,  if  you  follow  the  stream  up  in  low  water  I 
will    defy    you   to    see   anything   over   the   status 
of   a   fingerling,   a    little-fingerling,   if    I    may    so 
put  it. 

But  when  the  hills  have  been  lost  in  grey  wool 
for  half  a  day,  when  the  thunder  has  crashed  about 
the  rocks,  and  the  good  rain  has  poured  as  if  it 
knew  its  duty,  then  the  trout  all  come  back  again 


SOME  TINY  WATERS  33 

out  of  the  heather  and  lie  at  every  corner,  behind 
every  stone,  assimilating  worms  as  fast  as  jaws  can 
work  and  stomachs  digest.  Set  out  while  the  water 
is  still  porter-coloured — and  you  will  seldom  find 
it  more  definitely  tinged  at  these  altitudes,  where 
there  are  no  road- washings — and  ply  your  worm- 
tackle,  and  you  will  find  that  the  neighbouring 
heather  must  have  been  alive  with  fish,  some  of 
them  brave  fellows  of  five  and  six  ounces.  I 
do  not  remember  ever  getting  a  veritable  half- 
pounder  in  one  of  these  mountain  burns,  but  I  have 
had  fish  not  far  off  that  weight,  and  sometimes  two 
or  three  in  a  day  to  help  out  the  average. 

Now  and  again  I  have  had  very  pretty  fly-fishing 
in  one  of  these  tiny  streams,  generally  after  two 
or  three  wet  days,  when  there  is  a  good  volume  of 
clear  water  coming  down,  but  occasionally,  too, 
when  the  effect  of  a  spate  has  almost  passed  off. 
Once,  I  remember,  when  the  Penydwddwr  was  in 
thick  red  flood,  having  come  down  upon  us  rather 
suddenly,  I  was  caught  unawares.  It  was  much 
too  thick  for  the  fly,  and  I  had  neither  minnows 
nor  worms.  Also,  I  had  a  very  wet  jacket  and  was 
generally  feeling  morose,  especially  as  I  knew  that 
Caradoc  and  the  rest  of  the  party,  who  always  go 
prepared,  must  be  having  inglorious  but  solid 
sport  in  the  eddies  lower  downstream.  So  when 
I  came  to  the  Forsaken  Burn,  and  the  sun  came 


34  TROUT  FISHING 

out,  I   hung  my    coat    to    dry    on    a    bush    and 
meditated. 

The  Forsaken  Burn,  which  comes  out  of  the  west, 
was  an  odd  contrast  to  the  turbid  Penydwddwr, 
being  at  its  lowest.  It  looked  lifeless  and  its  pools 
were  in  parts  positively  bescummed  as  a  result  of 
the  dry  weather.  Evidently  the  storm  had  been 
very  local,  and  the  western  hills  had  known  nothing 
of  it.  By  way  of  doing  something  while  my  coat 
dried  in  the  sun  and  wind,  I  made  a  cast  into  the 
nearest  pool,  and,  to  my  surprise,  immediately  rose 
a  good  trout,  which  gave  a  run,  a  jump,  and  was  off. 
After  that  I  fished  carefully  upstream  for  some  little 
distance,  and  in  each  pool  had  a  very  similar  experi- 
ence. Altogether  I  must  have  spent  an  hour  on  the 
stream,  and  hooked  quite  a  dozen  trout  of  decent 
size.  But  I  did  not  land  one.  It  was  a  curious, 
though  unsatisfying,  adventure,  and  I  returned  to 
my  coat  in  a  worse  temper  than  ever.  But  the  day 
turned  out  not  so  badly  after  all.  I  put  on  the 
biggest  and  darkest  flies  I  had,  a  zulu  and  a  cochy- 
bonddu  on  No.  5  or  No.  6  hooks,  and  started  to 
fish  my  way  homewards.  And  at  once  I  discovered 
that  the  Penydwddwr  was  not  too  thick,  after  all. 
The  trout  simply  raced  after  the  flies,  and  I  made 
a  good  basket  of  twenty-two  in  a  comparatively 
short  time,  besides  losing  a  good  many,  which  were, 
of  course,  the  biggest. 


SOME  TINY  WATERS  35 

But  the  Penydwddwr,  though  no  Amazon,  is 
too  wide  a  water  for  this  chapter,  which  should 
contain  nothing  across  which  a  young  man  could  not 
jump  pretty  often  in  each  quarter  of  a  mile.  I 
should  like  to  include  in  it  some  of  the  extraordinary 
little  streams  which  I  have  seen  in  the  New  Forest, 
and  which,  I  am  told,  contain  trout.  They  are 
very  curious  trickles,  and  should  provide  some 
difficult  and  tangled  fishing,  but  I  have  never  been 
in  the  way  of  trying  one.  Worthy  of  separate  classi- 
fication, perhaps,  are  the  mill-leats,  which  are  often 
to  be  found  beside  the  wet-fly  streams  of  Devonshire, 
Wales,  and  other  districts.  Many  anglers  pass  these 
places  by  with  scorn.  Nor  will  I  seek  to  dissuade 
them,  for  there  is  not  much  room  on  a  mill-leat  for 
more  than  one  rod,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  it 
should  be  bruited  abroad  that  the  fish  in  it  are  better 
than  those  of  the  main  river,  brighter,  fatter,  and 
heavier  in  proportion  to  their  length.  Besides, 
it  would  be  no  use  telling  them  that  the  mill-leat 
has  a  bright  gravel  bed  and  quite  an  abundance 
of  food-producing  weeds.  They  look  at  it,  perhaps, 
and  they  see  that  what  with  its  natural  narrowness 
and  the  drooping  grasses  at  each  side,  it  offers  no 
more  than  a  foot  of  water  on  which  to  place  a  fly. 
So  they  say  "  Pooh  I  " 

But  what  battles  I  have  had  with  the  quarter- 
pounders  and  six-ouncers  in  that  foot  of  water  1 


36  TROUT  FISHING 

What  half-pounders,  aye  and  better,  have  I  not  lost ! 
I  live  in  hopes  of  some  day  really  doing  justice  to 
the  possibilities  of  a  mill-leat,  and  getting  at  least 
a  dozen  fish  out  of  it,  averaging  three  to  the  pound. 
It  certainly  could  be  done  with  luck  and  a  steady 
hand.  That  is,  perhaps,  the  trouble.  As  one 
works  the  fly  downstream — upstream  fishing  in 
so  small  a  water,  which  is  relatively  deep,  does 
not  seem  to  rouse  the  fish  so  effectually — the  trout 
come  at  it  with  a  bang,  and  the  hand  involuntarily 
responds  with  violence,  so  that  the  fly  is  missing 
afterwards,  or,  at  best,  the  trout  is  off  after  a  flounce 
of  surprise  The  fish  should  in  such  a  place  be 
allowed  to  hook  themselves,  the  angler  doing  no 
more  than  hold  the  rod-point  steady  when  they  rise. 
But  it  is  much  easier  to  preach  this  doctrine  than  to 
practise  it,  and  my  progress  down  the  leat  has  always 
been  a  story  of  catastrophe.  Occasionally  I  have  had 
three  or  four  nice  little  trout,  but  what  are  they  to 
the  splendid  creatures  that  I  ought  to  have  had  ? 

Also  to  be  included  in  the  category  of  jumpable 
streams  are,  I  think,  the  top  reaches  of  some  of  the 
chalk  streams,  and  many  of  the  carriers  which  feed 
the  water-meadows  all  along  their  courses.  But 
these  are  too  important  to  be  squeezed  in  at  the 
end  of  a  chapter,  and  I  have  spent  so  many  happy 
days  on  them  that  I  owe  them  a  better  compliment, 
which  I  hope  presently  to  pay. 


SOME  TINY  WATERS  37 

Here,  however,  I  may  touch  on  a  topic  which  to 
some  extent  concerns  them,  as  it  concerns  all  the 
others,  the  question  of  a  rod  for  small  stream  fly 
fishing.  I  have  found,  and,  I  think,  others  would 
find,  that  the  possession  of  a  really  small  rod  adds 
immensely  to  the  pleasure  and  interest,  and,  in 
many  cases,  to  the  comfort,  of  angling  in  tiny  waters. 
I  began  to  fish  them  with  a  weapon  of  about  nine 
feet.  Then  I  came  down  to  eight  feet  six  inches. 
Then,  to  cope  with  a  Yorkshire  beck  which  ran 
mostly  under  an  avenue  of  bushes,  I  dropped  to 
six  feet  six  inches,  getting  a  short  handle  made  for 
the  two  upper  joints  of  a  small  greenheart.  Later, 
however,  I  discovered  the  rod  mentioned  before  in 
this  chapter,  a  baby  split  cane  seven  feet  long,  which 
Hardy  Brothers  had  built  to  a  pattern  prescribed 
by  that  good  French  sportsman,  Prince  Pierre 
D'Arenberg,  and  which  bears  his  name.  I  made 
myself  a  present  of  one  of  these  and  am  now  suited, 
as  they  say  in  domestic  circles.  The  rod  weighs 
something  infinitesimal,  and  is  small  enough  for 
practically  all  purposes,  and  yet  it  will  cast  a  sur- 
prisingly long  line  if  you  need  it,  as  you  sometimes 
do  on  the  smallest  stream.  Also,  it  will  handle  a 
fish  with  tact,  a  point  on  which  I  shall  have  some- 
thing to  say  later,  but  also,  if  required,  with  firmness. 
At  this,  I  suppose,  one  ought  not  to  be  surprised, 
if  Dr.  Mottram's  theory,  set  out  in  his  interesting 


38  TROUT  FISHING 

book,  Fly  Fishing :  New  Arts  and  Mysteries,  is 
correct;  viz.,  that  the  shorter  the  rod  the  more 
strain  you  put  on  the  fish.  All  the  same,  I  am 
always  surprised  when  a  small  rod  puts  up  a  valiant 
fight. 


CHAPTER  III 

A   LITTLE   CHALK   STREAM 

IT  would  be  hopeless  to  attempt  a  celebration  of 
all  the  carriers  and  drains  which  have  given  me  hours 
of  delight  on  the  Itchen,  Test,  or  Kennet,  though 
they  come  under  the  category  of  little  streams. 
Each  several  one  would  tempt  me  on  to  a  lingering 
description  of  its  features.  There  are  carriers  whose 
every  yard  almost  has  some  special  significance  to 
me,  as  the  scene  of  the  capture,  or  loss,  or  sight  of 
some  particular  fish.  It  may  be  noted  that  a  fish 
which  one  has  only  seen  may  4ive  quite  as  long  in 
memory  as  a  fish  which  has  actually  been  caught. 

I  could,  too,  dwell  lovingly  on  memories  of  the 
small  upper  reaches  of  one  or  two  of  the  lesser  chalk 
streams,  such  as  the  fascinating  Gloucestershire 
Coin  round  about  Ablington,  the  Lambourn  near 
Boxford,  Driffield  Beck  above  Sunderlandwick,  or 
the  Dun  at  Hungerford.  They  all  have  delightful 
characteristics  and  each  would  require  a  volume 
to  do  it  justice.  The  art  of  catching  trout  in  a 
chalk  stream  which  runs  very  shallow  over  a 
relatively  wide  bed — the  upper  Coin  and  the  Dun 

39 


40  TROUT  FISHING 

are  of  this  character — might  in  itself  be  expounded 
in  a  treatise  of  many  pages,  though  I  should  not  be 
competent  to  write  it. 

Instead  of  attempting  to  set  down  the  catalogue 
of  days  which  I  have  at  one  time  or  another  enjoyed 
on  these  small  waters,  I  will  give  some  impressions 
of  a  season  on  a  little  river  which  has  been  less 
described  in  print  than  most  of  our  southern  streams 
of  any  note,  though  it  should  perhaps  have  received 
frequent  celebration,  because  it  was  the  stream  by 
which  Izaak  Walton  must  have  spent  many  days 
during  the  later  part  of  his  life.  This  stream  is 
the  Meon,  and  anglers  who  are  curious  to  trace 
Walton's  association  with  it  should  study  the 
chapter  on  "  Izaak  Walton  at  Droxford,"  in  Canon 
Vaughan's  delightful  book  The  Wild  Flowers  of 
Selborne.  It  gives  some  information  as  to  the 
old  man's  Hampshire  life  and  friends  which  I  have 
not  found  elsewhere. 

The  Meon  must  have  been  a  trout  stream  after 
his  own  heart,  if  it  had  the  same  character  in  his 
day  that  it  has  now.  In  the  part  which  I  know,  at 
any  rate,  it  may  be  described  as  a  chalk  stream  in 
miniature.  Lower  down  it  may  be  more  consider- 
able, but  I  do  not  know  the  reaches  near  the  sea. 
Near  Droxford,  which  was  Walton's  abode,  it  is 
like  the  Test  writ  very  small,  with  all  its  features 
clear  but  tiny.  There  are  intoxicated  little  ripples, 


Droxford,  the  Haunt 
of  that  "Big  One" 


A  LITTLE  CHALK  STREAM  41 

sober  little  pools,  contrary  little  eddies,  turbulent 
little  hatch-holes,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  scenery 
complete.  The  weed-beds  are  circumscribed  but 
vigorous,  the  accumulations  of  mud  insignificant  yet 
definite,  and  in  places  the  banks  quake  like  their 
betters,  while  a  man  may  subside  into  little  quag- 
mires just  as  he  would  in  more  important  places. 
Happily  he  does  not  subside  very  far,  so  he  gets  a 
sense  of  adventure  without  undue  risk  or  discomfort. 

As  the  river  so  the  trout.  They  also  are  built  on 
a  small,  though  perfect,  scale.  Their  average 
weight  is  about  ten  ounces — by  that  I  mean  the 
average  weight  of  trout  killed  on  the  fishing 
which  I  have  specially  in  mind.  In  some  parts  of 
the  stream  the  average  may  be  a  little  lower  than 
this,  half  a  pound  perhaps.  Nowhere,  probably, 
is  it  very  much  higher.  A  pounder  is  looked  upon 
as  an  achievement,  and  the  biggest  caught  by  any 
rod  on  the  water  in  question  during  two  seasons 
did  not  exceed  a  pound  and  a  quarter.  For  a  chalk 
stream  such  weights  are  small,  and  there  are  moun- 
tain streams  which  could  show  almost  as  good  an 
average  in  parts  of  their  course,  which  certainly 
yield  bigger  fish  occasionally.  The  Usk  in  Wales 
and  the  Deveron  or  Don  in  Scotland  would  possibly 
not  suffer  by  comparison  with  this  Hampshire 
stream. 

Size,  however,  is  not  the  only  criterion  of  merit, 


42  TROUT  FISHING 

and  smaller  trout  often  have  qualities  denied  to  big 
ones.  That  is  certainly  the  case  with  these.  If 
the  two-pounders  of  the  Test  behaved  with  their 
impetuous  vigour  on  feeling  the  hook,  the  diaries 
of  Test  fishermen  would  show  much  less  imposing 
totals.  It  is  on  the  whole  fortunate  that  big  fish 
in  weedy  waters  are  not  given  to  acrobatics;  other- 
wise they  would  seldom  be  landed  with  the  little 
hooks  and  fine  gut  that  dry-fly  fishing  makes 
necessary.  It  is  not  the  trout  that  runs  far  and  fast 
that  is  dangerous  to  the  tackle,  nor  is  the  trout  that 
dives  into  a  weed-bed  and  stays  there  necessarily  a 
lost  fish ;  a  gentle  coaxing  with  the  hand  on  the  line 
itself  will  in  most  cases  persuade  him  to  come  out 
again. 

The  really  awkward  opponent  is  the  trout  which 
goes  off  at  a  burst  for  six  or  seven  yards,  turns 
sharp  to  the  left  going  slap  through  a  patch  of  weed, 
takes  another  burst  straight  upstream,  turns  to  the 
right  into  more  weeds,  dashes  out  on  the  other  side, 
and  finally  comes  to  anchor,  having,  for  greater 
security,  taken  two  turns  with  the  gut  round  a 
convenient  rush.  This — with  certain  modifications 
according  to  circumstances — is  the  customary  pro- 
cedure of  the  trout  here.  They  are  greatly  helped 
by  the  nature  of  the  stream,  since  they  need  never 
travel  far  to  find  some  device  for  giving  the  angler 
pain.  It  follows  therefore  that  their  capture,  when 


A  LITTLE  CHALK  STREAM     43 

they  are  hooked,  is  anything  but  a  certainty,  which 
adds  of  course  enormously  to  the  interest  of  the 
game.  It  may  be  said,  in  fact,  that  these  small 
fish  are  just  as  hard  to  land  as  their  heavier  brethren 
in  bigger  streams,  and  this  is  equivalent  to  a 
statement  that  they  are  entitled  to  just  as  much 
respect. 

If  a  man  wants  to  make  the  most  of  the  small  fish 
in  streams  like  this  (for  it  is  by  no  means  the  only 
one  in  the  chalk  system)  he  can  modify  his  tackle, 
or,  at  any  rate,  his  rod.  A  miniature  rod,  such 
as  I  have  before  described,  seems  designed  specially 
to  match  those  miniature  rivers,  and  its  use  certainly 
makes  the  fishing  seem  more  important.  I  began 
the  season  with  a  bigger  rod,  but  one  day  took  down 
the  little  one  in  order  to  fish  in  a  backwater  which 
is  so  overhung  with  trees  and  so  beset  with  bushes 
that  a  longer  rod  would  not  avail  there.  I  found  the 
toy  to  answer  so  well  and  to  handle  the  fish  so 
cunningly  that  I  afterwards  took  it  to  the  more 
open  water,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  season  used  nothing 
else  there.  These  tiny  rods  rather  tend  to  get  you 
hung-up  behind  if  you  attempt  a  long  line,  so  they 
necessitate  an  extra  amount  of  creeping  and  crawling 
in  the  approach  of  rising  fish.  As  the  dry-fly  man 
ought  to  creep  and  crawl — it  is  part  of  the  fun — that 
does  not  matter.  A  certain  advantage  is  to  be 
found  in  the  delicacy  with  which  such  a  rod  responds 


44  TROUT  FISHING 

to  the  movements  of  the  fish ;  it  may  stop  him  from 
doing  some  of  the  more  outrageous  things  that  he 
has  in  his  head,  by  making  him  think  that  his  less 
elaborate  devices  are  succeeding — till  he  finds,  too 
late,  that  he  has  wasted  his  time  and  strength  on 
futilities. 

Expert  dry-fly  men  generally  counsel  the  novice  to 
"  bustle  "  his  fish,  to  be  as  hard  on  him  as  the  tackle 
will  allow,  and  to  get  him  to  the  net  as  quickly  as 
possible.  This  is  sound  enough  for  some  occasions 
but  not  for  all.  Sometimes  a  trout  may  be  hooked 
in  a  place  where  his  escape  is  an  absolute  certainty 
if  he  chooses  to  put  out  his  strength  and  exercise 
his  speed.  A  little,  clear  pool  with  tree-roots  or 
trailing  brambles  at  its  sides  is  such  a  place.  Unless 
the  angler's  tackle  is  strong  enough  for  a  sheer 
pulling  match,  as  it  seldom  is,  his  only  chance  is  to 
play  the  trout  as  though  the  cast  was  made  of  cobweb, 
to  yield  to  his  every  movement  and  humour  his 
every  whim.  It  is  surprising  how  often  and  how 
quickly  that  treatment  will  bring  the  fish  peacefully, 
and  without  fuss,  to  the  net.  With  a  small,  light 
rod  it  is  much  easier  to  play  a  fish  in  this  way  than 
with  a  long,  heavy  one.  The  susceptibility  of  trout 
to  gentle  treatment  shows  that  this  violent  behaviour 
is  due  as  much  to  shock  and  sudden  alarm  as  to  the 
fact  that  they  have  been  hooked.  If  you  have 
struck  quietly  and  kept  the  lightest  strain  on  after- 


A  LITTLE   CHALK  STREAM  45 

wards,  the  fish  seems  to  be  hardly  aware  of  anything 
wrong.  If,  however,  you  have  struck  hard  and 
begun  to  pull  hard,  he  becomes  a  violent  opponent 
at  once. 

In  one  important  feature  our  little  chalk  stream 
differs  from  some  of  its  peers — the  difference  is 
possibly  more  noticeable  on  this  part  of  it  than  on 
others — and  that  is  in  the  matter  of  fly,  and  the 
consequent  rising  of  the  fish.  I  should  hardly  like 
to  say  that  fly  was  less  plentiful,  but  it  is  certainly 
less  concentrated.  The  time  of  the  rise  is  not 
nearly  so  well  defined  as  on  the  Itchen,  for  instance, 
and  it  is  not  often  that  you  could  lay  your  hand  on 
your  heart  and  say,  "  Why,  every  trout  in  the 
stream  is  on  the  feed."  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 
not  often  that  you  could  say  with  gloomy  certainty, 
ic  Not  a  blessed  trout  is  moving  anywhere."  For 
nearly  always  there  is  something  moving,  or  willing 
to  move,  somewhere,  and  you  can  get  rises  at  any 
time  of  day  if  you  are  persistent  and  alert.  You 
can  catch  fish,  moreover,  by  speculative  casting  in 
likely  places,  a  method  which  is  of  doubtful  value  on 
the  Itchen  in  most  parts  that  I  know. 

This  freer  habit  of  the  trout  is  wholly  commendable 
to  busy  men  whose  fishing  days  are  few,  for  it  means 
that  less  hours  are  absorbed  in  mere  contemplation. 
The  catch  may  not  be  more  numerous  in  the  end — 
an  Itchen  rise  is  often  a  busy  and  crowded  time — but 


46  TROUT  FISHING 

it  will  have  been  more  evenly  distributed  over  the 
day,  and  that  counts  in  the  balance  of  enjoyment. 

Why,  it  may  be  asked,  is  there  such  a  difference 
in  the  habits  of  trout  in  two  rivers  not  many  miles 
apart?  Several  explanations  may  be  given  with 
some  confidence.  One  is  that  the  little  river  is 
rather  shallow  and  rapid,  a  character  which  makes 
for  greater  alertness  in  its  inhabitants.  Another  is 
the  fact  that  its  trout  are  smaller.  Half-pounders 
are  everywhere  easier  to  rouse  than  fish  of  twice  or 
three  times  their  weight.  But  most  important,  I 
think,  is  the  character  of  the  food-supply.  This 
little  stream  is  certainly  richer  in  "  oddments  "  than 
a  bigger  one  would  be,  or  at  any  rate  the  oddments 
make  a  braver  show  and  stimulate  more  fish. 
Plenty  of  beetles,  caterpillars,  crane  flies,  ants,  and 
other  irregular  fare  must  reach  the  trout  of  a  big 
river,  but  only  as  a  rule  those  trout  which  lie  close 
to  the  banks.  In  a  narrow  stream  such  as  this, 
however,  the  fish  which  lie  in  the  middle  expect  a 
share  in  the  good  things  too,  and  no  doubt  get  it. 
So  the  proportion  of  what  may  be  called  casual 
feeders  is  greater  than  in  the  bigger  rivers,  and  the 
angler's  chances  are  accordingly  more  numerous. 

Where  all  is  delightful  it  is  hard  to  declare  a 
preference  for  one  bit  of  the  stream  over  another. 
Looking  back  on  that  past  season  I  get  a  series  of 
precious  memories,  from  the  first  day  when  I  hurried 


A  LITTLE   CHALK  STREAM  47 

down  the  great  field  which  slopes  from  the  church 
to  the  ford  (on  a  very  hot  day  you  can  bear  to  the 
right  and  have  the  grateful  shade  of  an  avenue  of 
elms  for  most  of  the  distance),  to  the  last  day  in 
September  when  I  hastened  uphill  along  the  road 
from  the  top  of  the  water,  not  without  misgivings  as 
to  the  time  left  for  catching  the  last  train. 

Near  the  ford,  which  is  practically  at  the  middle 
of  the  water,  is  the  choicest  spot  for  luncheon  that 
Nature  ever  devised.  Five  big  trees,  chestnut,  elm, 
ash,  oak,  and  beech,  there  combine  to  ward  off  the 
sun,  and  then  the  stream,  always  in  the  shade, 
babbles  round  three  sharp  corners  with  the  impetu- 
ous fuss  of  a  mountain  brook.  With  a  brace  in  the 
creel,  or  without  it,  an  angler  could  never  fail  in  that 
spot  of  a  divine  content.  Hard-boiled  eggs,  a  crisp 
lettuce,  bread  and  butter,  and  a  bottle  of  amber 
ale  a-cool  in  the  water  at  his  feet — what  could 
appetite  want  better  in  so  "  smiling  a  corner  of  the 
world  "  ? 

And  (let  me  but  whisper  it)  if  by  lunch  time  the 
creel  is  quite  empty,  and  if  a  fish  or  two  are  urgently 
required  for  some  kindly  purpose,  and  if  last  night 
the  evening  rise  was  all  sound,  sight  and  fury, 
signifying  nothing,  and  if — but  the  fisherman  knows 
these  if's  well  enough  to  dispense  with  the  list. 
Granting  the  if's,  there  is  the  stream  rippling  along 
under  the  boughs  and  over  the  gravel,  as  it  had 


48  TROUT  FISHING 

been  in  Devonshire.  What  more  natural  than  to 
respond  to  so  obvious  an  invitation,  and  to  see  what 
a  blue  upright  or  GreenwelPs  Glory  may  achieve 
fished  wet  downstream?  A  wrong  proceeding,  I 
grant  you,  yet  not  without  the  palliation  of  difficulty, 
for  the  rod  must  be  kept  low  and  the  line  switched 
cunningly  to  avoid  the  overhanging  boughs.  And 
the  fly  must  hang  seductively  in  the  eddy  behind 
the  ash  roots,  must  move  convincingly  across  the 
stream,  and  must  be  made  to  tarry  here,  to  hasten 
there.  There  is  more  in  the  wet-fly  business  than 
contemptuous  prohibitions  would  seem  to  allow, 
especially  in  a  place  like  this.  And  when  the 
tug  comes,  and  a  fierce  fish  is  gone  away  down- 
stream and  round  the  corner,  the  angler  is  prepared, 
puffing  and  splashing  after,  to  vow  that  never  did 
trout  hooked  on  orthodox  dry  fly  make  so  fast  a 
run  or  pull  so  hard.  It  is  surely  the  not  impossible 
two-pounder  at  last. 

It  is  well  that  two  anglers  should  be  on  the  fishery 
together,  because  there  is  then  no  difficulty  as  to 
which  part  of  the  water  it  were  best  to  visit.  For 
two  rods  there  is  an  obvious  division  into  an  upper 
beat  and  a  lower.  Alone,  I  sometimes  knew  fearful 
indecisions,  and  if,  after  much  turning  of  the  swift 
mind  this  way  and  that,  I  went  upstream,  there 
would  presently  come  a  craving  for  the  lower  water. 
If  my  feet  carried  me  to  the  bottom  hatch  where  the 


A  LITTLE  CHALK  STREAM  49 

boundary  is,  my  heart  would  surely  fly  to  the  bridge 
right  at  the  top  where,  close  against  the  brickwork, 
would  be  rising  that  big  one  which  I  could  always 
move  and  never  catch.  Positively  to  get  full 
advantage  of  a  very  varied  bit  of  fishing  a  man  needs 
to  be  "  two  gentlemen  rolled  into  one,"  but  capable 
of  unrolling  at  need. 

If  from  the  luncheon  corner  one  goes  up,  one 
comes  to  the  water  which  is  perhaps  most  typical 
of  a  dry-fly  stream,  and  the  higher  one  goes  the 
more  tempting  does  it  become.  There  are  two  little 
weirs,  three  bridges,  and  several  stretches  with  a 
steady  and  smooth  current  where  rises  and  flies  can 
be  easily  seen.  A  good  deal  of  the  lower  water  is 
too  swift  and  broken  for  comfort  of  vision,  and 
frequently  one  has  to  guess  at  the  exact  position 
of  one's  fly.  Even  keen-sighted  and  experienced 
anglers  probably  have  to  do  this  more  often  than 
the  beginner  suspects,  but  they  are  never  quite 
happy  about  it.  It  leads  sometimes  to  distressing 
incidents.  I  shall  never  forget  a  vast  Test  trout 
which  on  a  very  windy  day  took  my  fly  four  several 
times.  My  eyes  on  each  occasion  were  earnestly 
fixed  on  a  natural  fly  which  floated  hard  by  the 
artificial,  and  on  each  occasion  I  found  out  the 
mistake  just  too  late.  A  brisk  ripple  on  the  water 
made  spotting  the  right  fly  a  matter  of  sheer 
luck. 

E 


50  TROUT  FISHING 

There  are  several  very  difficult  bits  on  this  upper 
water.  In  two  or  three  places  a  willow  leans  across 
the  stream,  and  under  each  is  a  deep  hole  with  an 
eddy  behind  the  trunk.  Practically  the  trout  in 
these  strongholds  are  not  to  be  caught.  Occasionally 
one  may  be  hooked  by  the  arduous  process  of 
dibbling  through  the  network  of  twigs,  or  by  casting 
a  very  short  line  just  over  the  tree  trunk  upstream. 
But  an  immediate  retreat  to  the  shelter  of  the  roots 
very  soon  frees  that  trout,  and  probably  teaches  his 
fellows  wisdom;  at  any  rate  it  is  quite  a  rare  thing 
even  to  get  a  fish  on  in  these  places. 

Another  difficult  place  is  a  delightful  glide  under 
some  bushes  on  the  far  bank.  The  bed  of  the  stream 
shelves  gently  here  so  that  the  water  is  only  an  inch 
or  two  in  depth  on  this  side  and  perhaps  two  or  three 
feet  on  the  other.  For  some  reason  connected  with 
the  light  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  get  a  fly  to 
any  rising  fish  in  this  piece  without  alarming  him. 
No  matter  whether  you  crawl  close  to  the  edge  or 
grovel  out  in  the  meadow,  something — your  head, 
your  arm,  the  flash  of  the  rod,  or  the  curving  line — 
is  perceived  by  the  trout,  and  he  withdraws  as 
quickly  as  may  be.  None  the  less  the  angler  will 
certainly  waste  a  lot  of  time  here,  because  the  place 
is  so  tempting  to  his  eye. 

For  the  sake  of  the  basket  it  were  wiser  to  go  on 
a  few  hundred  yards  to  a  part  of  the  stream  which 


A  LITTLE   CHALK  STREAM  51 

is  somewhat  deeper  and  formed  into  a  succession  of 
little  runs  and  pools  by  beds  of  weeds.  Here  the 
trout  are  not  easily  scared,  and  when  the  fly  is 
hatching  they  rise  very  freely,  half  a  dozen  or  so  in 
each  pool  and  two  or  three  in  each  run.  At  the  first 
sight  the  angler  says  to  himself  "  Ha !  they  are 
delivered  into  my  hand,"  and  probably  forms  a 
resolution  not  to  take  too  many.  Such  a  simple 
and  confiding  folk  deserves  chivalrous  treatment. 
But  when  he  has  been  pegging  away  for  half  an  hour 
or  so  with  no  result  but  a  few  short  and  splashy 
rises  his  mind  is  altered.  He  desires,  and  desires 
very  badly,  to  knock  one  or  two  of  these  fish  on  the 
head.  The  trouble  here  is  the  drag.  Owing  to 
the  irregular  growth  of  weeds  the  current  varies  in 
pace  with  every  few  inches,  and  the  result  is  that  the 
fly  is  made  to  do  all  sorts  of  unnatural  things.  The 
drag  can  be  overcome  by  very  careful  use  of  slack-line 
but  only  after  much  study  and  experiment.  One 
learns  to  regard  a  brace  of  fish  caught  in  this  reach 
as  a  solid  and  satisfactory  hour's  work. 

It  is  not  so  very  far  from  this  point  to  the  road 
bridge,  which  may  be  called  the  top  of  the  water. 
Having  attained  to  this  the  angler  commonly  begins 
to  think  of  tea,  and  of  the  little  low-browed  inn 
which  may  be  reached  in  five  minutes,  or  perhaps  a 
little  more,  since  the  road  winds  uphill,  and  waders 
and  brogues  make  slow  going.  First,  though,  he 


52  TROUT  FISHING 

must  spread  his  elbows  comfortably  on  the  parapet 
and  gaze  into  the  deep  pool  below.  Let  me  here  tell 
the  story  of  the  great  fish.  It  was  "  no  fisher  but 
a  well-wisher  to  the  game  "  (in  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
phrase)  who  discovered  the  great  fish,  and  who  made, 
so  to  say,  no  small  song  about  it,  for  it  was  creditable 
in  a  well-wisher  to  have  detected  a  monster  which 
the  fishers  had  completely  overlooked.  So  long  it 
was  (hands  two  feet  apart),  and  it  lay  just  to  the  right 
of  the  strongest  stream,  in  the  very  deepest  part 
of  the  pool.  The  fishers,  much  perturbed,  at  once 
set  out  to  test  the  matter,  for  a  two-foot  trout  is  a 
six-pounder  at  the  least.  Sure  enough  there  in  the 
spot  mentioned  was  a  shape,  broad  and  dark  and 
obscure  by  reason  of  what  Blackmore  might  have 
called  the  "  nebules  "  in  the  water.  "  Golly  "  and 
"  Great  Scott,"  said  the  fishers,  and  they  went 
away. 

But  at  dusk  for  several  evenings  a  stealthy  form 
would  approach  the  pool  from  below,  there  would  be 
a  swishing  in  the  air,  and  presently  a  sort  of  plop, 
as  a  sedge  suitable  to  six-pounders  hurtled  on  to  the 
surface  of  the  water.  Nothing  came  of  it,  but  every 
morning  there  was  the  dark  form  in  its  accustomed 
place  to  inspire  new  stratagems  and  provoke  fresh 
efforts.  Then  at  last  came  a  morning  of  bright 
sun  and  unusually  low  water — a  mill  above  was 
perhaps  holding  the  stream  up  for  an  hour  or  two. 


A  LITTLE  CHALK  STREAM     53 

And  the  murder  (it  might  almost  be  called  that)  was 
out.  A  child's  toy  boat  lay  waterlogged  and 
derelict  on  the  river  bed.  Its  lines  were  not  at  all 
unlike  those  of  broad-backed  trout,  and  a  straggle 
of  weed  made  a  very  passable  tail.  It  was  immedi- 
ately evident  that  precious  evenings  had  been  wasted 
and  there  was  a  sudden  transference  of  affection 
from  the  upper  to  the  lower  water,  where  men  were 
not  mocked  by  simulacra. 

For  beauty  the  lower  water  could  not  compare 
with  the  upper,  being  almost  destitute  of  trees,  and 
open  to  sun  and  wind.  But  for  interest  it  might 
be  held  superior.  The  main  stream  is  somewhat 
swifter,  rather  deeper,  a  little  narrower.  Its  fish 
are,  maybe,  an  ounce  or  two  heavier  as  a  rule  and 
perhaps  rather  better  fed.  One  remarkable  trout, 
caught  almost  at  the  boundary,  weighed  a  pound 
though  it  was  only  twelve  inches  long,  an  exception- 
ally deep,  fat  fish. 

To  me,  however,  the  interest  of  the  lower  water 
lay  not  only  in  the  main  stream.  Here  the  meadows 
are  kept  pretty  constantly  irrigated,  "  under  water  " 
as  it  is  somewhat  largely  termed,  and  the  result  is 
that  there  are  many  carriers  and  side  streams  cris- 
crossed  about.  In  most  of  these  you  may  find  trout, 
often,  too,  bigger  trout  than  are  commonly  caught  in 
the  river  itself.  The  older  fish  of  all  chalk  streams 
seem  to  have  a  tendency  to  wander  into  the  irriga- 


54  TROUT  FISHING 

tion  channels  where  no  doubt  they  get  very  good 
feeding  of  minnows,  slugs,  beetles,  and  other 
sustaining  things.  To  me  there  is  something  very 
fascinating  about  these  outliers,  and  fishing  the 
carriers  is  a  joy.  These  carriers  are  the  more 
amusing  because  they  are  so  tiny.  Getting  a  three- 
quarter-pound  trout  out  of  a  runnel  two  feet  wide 
and  eighteen  inches  deep  is  the  queerest  adventure. 
It  is  not  orthodox  fishing  as  a  rule,  for  the  fish 
seldom  rise — there  is  no  hatch  of  fly  to  speak  of. 
But  deft  casting  in  the  likely  spots  will  often  fetch 
up  a  fish  whose  existence  was  only  hypothetical. 

One  day  in  one  of  these  carriers  I  saw  what  looked 
like  a  dimple  under  a  dockleaf .  I  put  a  ginger  quill 
on  the  place,  had  an  immediate  rise,  and  then  for 
about  five  minutes  walked  solemnly  up  and  down 
in  attendance  on  the  biggest  trout  I  ever  hooked  on 
the  fishery.  He  never  hurried  himself,  but  cruised 
to  and  fro,  and  in  the  end  the  fly  came  away  just  as 
I  was  wondering  whether  it  would  be  a  matter  for 
the  taxidermist.  I  think  that  trout  was  a  two- 
pounder,  though,  of  course,  estimates  of  lost  fish  are 
suspect  by  general  consent,  and  it  does  not  do 
to  be  rash.  Anyhow,  I  can  say  without  hesitation 
that  I  was  filled  with  grief  that  bordered  on 
despair. 

One  of  the  two  biggest  fish  I  caught  during  the 
season  was  the  result  of  long-continued  efforts  on 


A  LITTLE   CHALK  STREAM  55 

what  is  known  as  the  backwater — in  reality  a  little 
side  stream  which  joins  the  river  near  the  ford. 
Near  the  point  of  junction  it  is  quite  considerable, 
though  almost  without  current.  Here  big  trees 
shade  it  from  the  sun  nearly  all  day,  tall  rushes 
grow  along  the  bank,  and  the  trout  cruise  about  in 
droves  lazily  sucking  in  gnats,  spinners  and  other 
trifles,  and  occasionally  splashing  at  the  sedges 
which  are  tempted  out  by  the  subdued  light.  There 
are  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  of  this  still  water, 
and  one  can  easily  spend  a  morning  here  peeping 
through  the  rushes  and  occasionally  dropping  a  fly 
in  front  of  a  fish  which  comes  within  reach — they 
patrol  the  place  like  peaceful  pickets.  On  a  very 
hot  day  this  waiting  game  is  to  be  commended,  and 
a  brace  of  trout  may  be  caught  without  too  much 
hard  labour. 

Ordinarily  the  fish  are  no  bigger  than  those  else- 
where in  the  fishery,  but  one  day  I  became  aware  of 
a  mighty  one  which  smacked  great  jaws  as  he  fed, 
and  made  great  commotions  as  he  moved  about. 
Presently  I  saw  him,  and  he  had  fifteen  or  sixteen 
inches  to  his  credit.  And  then  I  rose  him  and 
hooked  him;  the  water  heaved  as  he  rolled  over, 
and  the  fly  came  away.  For  several  week-ends  I 
pursued  that  fish  in  vain.  He  was  sometimes  in 
one  place,  sometimes  in  another.  Occasionally 
he  would  make  a  pretence  of  rising,  but  he  would 


56  TROUT  FISHING 

never  really  take  a  fly  again  till  a  day  nearly  at  the 
end  of  July,  when  I  overcame  his  caution  by  a  trick 
which  was  probably  very  wrong.  I  put  on  a  fly 
with  a  long  straggling  hackle  and  placed  it  before 
him.  He  came,  looked,  mocked,  and  went  away. 
I  withdrew  the  fly  and  waited  for  some  minutes  till 
he  returned  on  his  beat.  Then  I  cast  it  in  front  of 
him  and  as  he  came  to  look  again  twitched  the  point 
of  the  rod  ever  so  slightly.  The  fly  waggled  on  the 
water,  the  fish  perceived  that  there  was  something 
which  had  life  and  movement,  opened  his  jaws 
wide,  closed  them — and  in  due  course  weighed  one 
pound  three  ounces.  Without  prejudice,  he  should 
have  weighed  a  pound  and  a  half,  for  he  was  not  in 
good  condition. 

Higher  up,  the  backwater  gets  smaller  and  smaller 
till  at  last  it  has  no  obvious  existence  at  all.  Its 
course  is  absolutely  choked  with  coarse  rushes  and 
other  vegetation,  and  most  of  the  little  pools  are 
screened  with  impenetrable  bushes  and  protected 
by  drooping  boughs.  Yet  in  some  of  the  clear  spots 
there  are  trout,  and  good  ones.  I  used  occasionally 
to  get  one  here  and  there  at  the  expense  of  scratches 
from  thorns,  stings  from  nettles,  an  aching  back, 
and  very  undignified  attitudes. 

It  was  not  bad  fun  but  it  was  laborious,  so  one 
day  early  in  June  I  decided  to  make  the  place 
fishable,  and  put  in  some  perspiring  hours  with  a 


A  LITTLE  CHALK  STREAM  57 

billhook,  a  saw,  and  an  iron  rake.  By  tea  time  there 
was  a  real  improvement  visible,  and  for  nearly  half 
a  mile  the  stream  was  approachable  at  regular 
intervals.  Alas,  for  human  aspirations  !  A  month 
later  when  I  inspected  the  water,  things  were  worse 
than  ever.  I  could  not  get  a  fly  on  to  it  anywhere. 
The  nettles,  rushes,  bushes,  and  trees  had  acquired 
so  mighty  an  impetus  from  my  pruning  that  they 
had  combined  to  choke  the  little  stream  altogether. 
Perhaps  it  was  not  the  pruning,  but  the  power  of 
growth  which  is  natural  in  the  valley  of  a  chalk 
stream. 

I  do  not  resent  my  defeat  by  incensed  Nature. 
The  experience  in  retrospect  is  even  pleasant,  for 
it  blends  with  the  other  impressions  given  by  a 
season  on  a  Hampshire  river,  all  of  them  testifying 
to  the  wonder  and  beauty  of  life.  Nowhere  in 
England  could  one  get  impressions  more  varied  or 
more  vivid.  The  plovers  which  made  a  routine 
business  of  trying  to  persuade  one  to  leave  the 
lower  meadow,  where  they  had  family  affairs;  the 
little  company  of  stoats  which  one  day  played  like 
kittens  round  a  broken  hatch-board;  the  tiny 
dabchick  which  had  just  left  its  shell,  and  seemed 
in  danger  of  drowning  till  a  landing-net  rescued  it, 
and  helped  it  to  a  patch  of  weeds;  the  friendly 
carthorses  and  placid  cows  —  all  these  things 
combine  with  the  flowers,  bees,  butterflies,  and 


58  TROUT  FISHING 

other  lesser  creatures^  to  make  up  a  rich  feast  for 
memory. 

Fair  sights,  sweet  sounds,  the  scent  of  may  or 
meadowsweet,  and  a  clear  river  rippling  in  golden 
sunshine — has  life  anything  better  to  give  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  FISHING  DAY 

NOT  long  ago  I  got  into  a  smoking-carriage  and 
found  already  seated  therein,  with  his  rod  and  bag 
above  him,  a  distinguished  fisher  who  considers 
himself  one  of  the  veterans  of  the  angling  world.  He 
often  insists,  to  the  surprise  and  protest  of  his 
friends,  that  he  was,  so  to  say,  in  his  young  prime 
during  the  consulate  of  Plancus.  And  we  have  to 
admit  that  he  seems  to  have  a  personal  knowledge 
of  what  a  Berkshire  keeper  of  my,  and  a  good 
many  other  people's,  acquaintance  delightfully  calls 
"  times  been  gone  by,"  which  argues  not  a  few 
decades  beneath  the  sun.  "  I  should  be  afraid  to 
say,"  observed  my  friend,  "  how  many  years  I 
have  been  coming  up  and  down  now.  And  do  you 
know  " — here  his  face  took  on  a  slightly  ashamed, 
yet  happy,  expression — "  every  time  I  get  into 
this  train  I  enjoy  it  more.  I  feel  like  a  schoolboy 
just  off  for  the  holidays."  As  my  friend  steps  into 
that  train  at  most  week-ends  during  the  trout  season 
it  is  obvious  that  his  sensations  have  not  lost  their 
keenness  by  being  often  repeated.  Nor  was  there 

69 


60  TROUT  FISHING 

any  less  fire  in  the  narrative  which  soon  followed  of 
last  week-end's  "  pretty  two-pounder  "  than  there 
has  ever  been  in  his  tales  of  triumph,  or  any  less 
enthusiasm  in  the  description  of  the  birds  that  were 
noted  during  the  visit.  To  feel  once  a  week  like  a 
schoolboy  going  home  for  the  holidays  is  a  wonderful 
aid  to  the  preservation  of  enthusiasms. 

And  of  course  my  friend  is  not  alone  in  that.  He 
is,  indeed,  one  of  a  great  company.  All  trout 
fishers,  who  are  really  fishers  by  nature  and  not 
merely  because  sporting  fashion  prescribes  a  few 
days  with  the  rod  as  an  essential  to  the  complete 
sportsman,  must  know  the  intense  joy  of  being  on 
the  way  to  their  fishing  with  all  its  excitements 
and  thrills  in  prospect.  For  the  time  being  they  are 
detached  from  the  rest  of  life  with  its  worries  and 
troubles,  and  every  one  they  meet,  everything  they 
see,  the  whole  tangible  and  visible  world  is  more 
or  less  in  keeping  with  the  peaceful  and  blameless 
nature  of  their  errand.  I  often  think  it  can  hardly 
be  possible  that  the  inhabitants  of  certain  delightful 
fishing  resorts  are  quite  perfect.  There  must  be 
some  little  flaw  in  them  somewhere,  because  they  are 
human  beings.  But  on  a  fine  fresh  May  morning  as 
one  takes  one's  way  to  the  river  the  streets  certainly 
seem  to  be  peopled  entirely  by  the  pick  of  humanity. 
Even  the  small  boys  proceeding  schoolwards  with 
shining  faces  would  appear  to  be  decorated  with 


THE  FISHING  DAY  61 

halos.  That  in  itself  casts  a  serious  doubt  on  the 
value  of  one's  conclusions,  because  as  a  matter  of 
fact  small  boys  are  never,  or  very  seldom,  decorated 
with  halos.  Still  it  is  none  the  less  pleasant  so 
to  picture  them  for  a  few  blissful  minutes. 

The  trout  fisher's  day  should  by  all  means  begin 
at  seven,  or  not  later  than  a  quarter  past,  and  I 
hope  I  offend  no  prejudices  by  suggesting  that  a  cup 
of  tea  and  a  slice  of  country  bread  and  butter  should 
greet  the  awakening.  The  boots  should  say  "  Nice 
drop  of  rain  last  night,  sir,"  when  he  brings  them  in 
and  at  the  same  moment  a  gleam  of  sunshine  should 
make  its  way  into  the  room  to  show  that  there  is  no 
fear  of  the  rain  spoiling  the  day.  The  morning  tea 
after  rain  and  in  the  sunlight  inspires  the  happiest 
imaginings  as  to  what  will  come  about.  Many  is 
the  noble  brace  of  trout  (or  round  dozen  of  trout ; 
it  depends  on  the  locality)  that  I  have  captured 
soon  after  seven  in  that  blessed  half-hour  of 
prognostication. 

Breakfast  should  be  at  eight,  and  the  only  com- 
munications that  have  come  by  post  should  be 
personal  and  of  an  encouraging  nature.  "  I  do 
hope  you  will  have  good  weather,  and  I  should 
certainly  stay  till  Wednesday  if  .  .  ."  That  is  the 
kind  of  tone  needed  to  start  the  day.  It  confirms 
you  in  your  opinion  that  you  are  doing  the  eminently 
right  and  proper  thing  in  taking  a  holiday.  The 


62  TROUT  FISHING 

sort  of  letter  which  has  a  business  complexion  and 
speaks  of  its  writer's  being  "  greatly  disappointed 
at  missing  you  to-day  "  and  hopes  "  that  you  will 
be  able  to  find  it  convenient "  to  make  an  appoint- 
ment within  the  next  two  days — that  sort  of  letter 
ought  to  be  lost  in  the  post.  It  casts  a  gloom  over 
everything,  makes  you  suspicious  of  its  writer,  and 
gives  you  the  bother  of  composing  and  sending  a 
non  possumus  telegram.  It  may  even  delay  your 
starting  for  five  minutes.  Of  the  letter  which  causes 
you  to  return  to  town  by  the  next  train  I  will  not 
speak.  I  hate  that  letter  too  much. 

The  only  excuse  for  not  being  on  the  water  by 
nine  is  a  visit  to  the  local  tackle  shop  if  there  is 
one.  Ten  minutes  there  spent  in  selecting  flies  and 
casts  and  hearing  about  fishing  things  in  general  are 
by  no  means  wasted.  They  serve  to  whet  the 
appetite,  already  keen,  for  the  day  that  is  coming, 
especially  if  you  receive  full  and  particular  intelli- 
gence of  certain  big  fish  which  have  frustrated  all 
local  efforts.  About  9  a.m.  on  the  first  morning 
you  naturally  have  your  own  opinion  as  to  local 
efforts.  They  are  perhaps  the  only  local  things 
that  have  not  that  quality  of  perfection  already 
noted,  which  but  makes  them  the  better  from  your 
point  of  view  and  fits  them  the  more  happily  into 
the  general  scheme  of  joyousness. 

In  due  course  the  water  is  reached  and  with  the 


THE  FISHING  DAY  63 

first  glint  of  it  comes  perhaps  the  finest  sensation 
of  the  day.  Some  men  save  a  morsel  of  time  at 
this  moment  by  being  quite  ready,  the  line  being 
threaded  through  the  rings  and  the  cast  with  the 
fly  or  flies  attached  to  it.  I  do  not  blame  them  at 
all.  Time  was  when  I  would  have  gone  even  farther 
and  extended  line  as  I  crossed  the  meadow  so  as 
to  hasten  events  by  a  few  seconds.  But  now  I 
think  I  prefer  the  slight  check  that  comes  by  not 
having  made  the  final  arrangements.  Very  oc- 
casionally it  happens  that  I  become  aware  that  the 
rise  has  begun  the  moment  I  get  to  the  water,  and 
then  there  is  a  delightful  feeling  of  running  a  race 
with  time.  Perhaps,  one  feels,  one  of  these  early 
morning  rises  of  which  one  has  heard  may  have 
happened  and  this  may  be  the  tail-end  of  it.  But 
at  the  same  time  the  alarm  is  not  too  acute.  There 
is  underneath  a  comforting  conviction  of  the  proba- 
bility of  being  busy  for  a  good  many  hours. 

Of  course  if  you  are  late  on  the  water  it  is  different. 
Once  I  remember  getting  to  the  Itchen  about  noon 
and  finding  the  rise  well  on.  I  caught  the  first 
three  trout  that  I  covered  all  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  every  movement  ceased.  There  was  nothing 
more  to  be  done  all  day  till  the  evening  rise  began. 
On  another  less  prosperous  occasion  I  got  to  the 
Kennet  at  Hungerford  in  what  should  have  been 
good  time,  about  ten  o'clock,  to  see  what  I  verily 


64  TROUT  FISHING 

believe  was  the  last  Mayfly  honestly  taken  by  a 
trout  that  day.  Between  nine  and  ten  there  had 
been  a  splendid  show  of  rising  fish,  probably  the  best 
of  the  season,  and  the  only  angler  out  so  early  had 
made  a  fine  basket. 

It  is  curious  how  little  definite  information  there 
is  among  dry-fly  men  as  to  what  goes  on  on  their 
rivers  before  the  dignified  hours  at  which  they  think 
proper  to  begin  their  fishing.  Nine  o'clock  may  be 
considered  the  earliest  imaginable  time  for  them  to 
reach  the  water,  ten  or  half-past  being  much  more 
usual.  Of  course  they  have  been  led  to  this  not 
by  dignity  alone.  It  depends  somewhat  on  the  time 
of  year,  but  as  a  general  rule  they  do  not  expect  to 
find  fish  rising  much  before  ten.  What  I  should 
much  like  to  know  myself  is  what  happens  in  the 
early  hours  of  a  hot  July  or  August  day,  or  rather 
not  of  a  day  but  of  the  day,  for  isolated  occurrences 
are  not  much  of  a  guide.  Are  there  at  all  commonly 
a  hatch  of  fly  and  rise  of  fish  before,  say,  eight 
o'clock?  It  so  happens  that  for  two  summers  I 
frequently  had  to  cross  the  Kennet  a  few  minutes 
before  eight  in  order  to  catch  a  morning  train. 
And  on  likely  mornings  I  always  saw  a  fish  or  two 
rising  as  I  hurried  past — the  nature  of  things  forbade 
a  leisurely  inspection,  because  these  early  trains 
take  such  a  lot  of  catching.  I  had  a  strong  wish 
to  reach  the  spot  about  5  a.m.  some  fine  morning 


THE  FISHING  DAY 


65 


and  to  study  what  happened  between  then  and 
eight.  My  suspicion  is  that  what  I  saw  at  the  later 
hour  was  but  the  end  of  important  doings,  well 
worthy  of  the  dry-fly  man's  consideration. 

But  here  even  more  is  the  nature  of  things  a 
hindrance  to  action.  Besides,  I  suppose  it  might 
be  open  to  question  whether  a  dry-fly  man  would 
consider  himself,  and  still  less  another  fellow,  a 
dry-fly  man  at  5  a.m.  Anyhow,  the  fact  remains 
that  I  do  not  remember  ever  fishing  on  a  chalk 
stream  much  before  nine.  Nor  do  I  know  more 
than  one  stream  on  which  an  effort  has  been  made 
to  solve  the  problem.  Some  of  my  friends  have 
returned  thence  to  breakfast  carrying  rods,  but 
they  have  uniformly  given  short  answers,  which  I 
hesitate  to  accept  as  evidence  one  way  or  the  other. 
I  think  the  weather  has  mostly  been  unpleasant 
when  I  have  seen  them  so  returning,  and,  anyhow, 
that  stream  is  hardly  typical,  being  subject  to  the 
vagaries  of  a  mill  and  apt  to  hold  very  little  water 
early  in  the  morning. 

The  wet-fly  morning  by  common  consent  may 
begin  soon  after  daybreak,  but  here  again  I  have 
little  or  no  experience.  I  know  that  in  hot  weather 
and  with  low  water  there  is  a  fertile  period  which 
ends  just  as  I  begin.  Often  enough  have  I  had  a 
brisk  little  bit  of  sport  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  which 
has  ceased  abruptly  as  the  sun  has  got  on  to  the 


66  TROUT  FISHING 

water.  But  somehow  I  have  never,  at  any  rate  for 
many  years,  risen  much  earlier  on  account  of  this 
knowledge.  And  most  of  my  wet-fly  fishing  has 
been  done  in  the  early  part  of  the  season  when  trout 
are  more  reasonable  in  their  feeding  hours.  Nine 
o'clock  seems  to  me  a  good  Christian  hour  at  which 
to  begin,  with  the  wet  fly  or  the  dry.  And  when, 
as  sometimes  happens,  having  begun  at  nine,  you 
are  still  waiting  for  encouragement  to  continue  at 
one,  you  begin  to  doubt  whether  on  the  morrow 
you  need  be  quite  so  early.  The  morrow  comes  and 
you  are  there  by  ten,  to  find  that,  as  in  the  instance 
I  have  recorded,  the  fun  to-day  really  did  begin  at 
nine  and  is  now  just  over.  Fishing  is  an  uncertain 
business. 

Time  was  when  I  held  firmly  to  the  belief  that  the 
important  part  of  the  trout  fishing  day  (setting 
aside  those  possible  hours  in  the  company  of  the 
lark,  as  to  which  I  have  confessed  that  I  know  little 
or  nothing)  was  the  morning.  The  period  from  ten 
till  one  was,  I  long  considered,  worth  all  the  rest  of 
the  day  put  together,  with  the  exception  of  perhaps 
an  hour  at  the  end  of  it.  And  if  it  came  to  be  lunch 
time  with  my  creel  still  empty  I  had  all  the  feelings 
of  depression  which  may  be  summed  in  the  words, 
"  Well,  here's  another  good  day  wasted."  And,  for 
that  matter,  I  still  cannot  rid  myself  quite  of  the 
old  notion,  and  I  still  feel  pretty  desperate  if  there 


THE  FISHING  DAY  67 

are  no  trout  to  be  admired  or  counted  during  the 
luncheon  interval;  while,  as  for  starting  out  in 
the  afternoon  and  getting  to  the  water  at  two  or 
thereabouts,  I  cannot  rid  myself  of  the  old  notion 
that  it  is  bound  to  be  a  complete  failure. 

Yet  I  have  had  plenty  of  proof  that  the  trout 
fishing  day  is  by  no  means  necessarily  over  at  one 
o'clock.  Often  and  often  have  I  eaten  luncheon  in 
gloom  and  fared  rejoicing  to  tea.  I  remember  a 
lovely  July  day  on  Driffield  Beck  some  years  ago 
when  I  sat  almost  desperate  beside  one  of  the  little 
weirs  which  give  charming  variety  to  the  water 
above  Sunderlandwick.  My  desperation  was  not 
so  much  due  to  the  fact  that  trout  had  not  been 
rising  as  to  the  fact  that  they  had,  and  that  I  had 
been  extremely  unskilful  or,  at  best,  horribly 
unlucky.  Fish  after  fish  had  been  hooked  and  lost, 
and  the  climax  had  been  reached  by  the  loss  of  a  real 
beauty  in  that  very  weirpool.  I  may  have  had  one 
sizeable  trout  in  the  creel — I  think  I  had — but  that 
was  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  those  which 
were  not  in  it  and  ought  to  have  been  if  I  had  had 
my  rights.  So  I  ate  my  sandwiches  and  cake  for 
no  more  satisfactory  reason  than  that  one  has  to 
keep  exhausted  nature  going.  How  different  is 
such  a  repast  from  that  seasoned  by  the  honest 
hunger  which  comes  of  carrying  a  fairly  heavy 
basket ! 


68  TROUT  FISHING 

And  then,  after  I  had  thrown  away  the  last 
fragment  of  cake  from  a  sensation  of  pure  boredom 
at  having  to  eat  it,  the  whole  complexion  of  the  day 
changed.  The  trout  which  had  been  so  hard  to 
catch  before  suddenly  became  easy.  They  took 
hold  of  the  ginger  quill  with  determination  and  were 
all  duly  played  to  the  net.  I  shall  never  forget 
that  afternoon,  the  glorious  warmth  of  it,  the 
myriad  hum  of  insects,  and  the  fat  golden  trout 
rising  so  confidingly  in  the  clear  spaces  between  the 
weeds.  It  was  one  of  the  days  on  which  I  have 
occasionally  had  to  pause  and  exclaim  gratefully  to 
smiling  Nature,  "  How  I  am  enjoying  myself !  " 
I  remember  spending  a  long  time  over  one  really  big 
fish,  probably  a  three-pounder,  which  was  rising,  to 
all  appearance  recklessly,  in  a  deep  swirly  place 
below  a  thick  bunch  of  weeds  and  above  a  clump  of 
rushes.  Five  or  six  times  I  got  that  fish  up  to 
various  flies,  but  he  never  seemed  actually  to  take 
one.  At  any  rate  I  never  felt  him.  Probably  the 
swirly  nature  of  his  feeding-ground  made  the  fly 
drag  a  little  every  time,  enough  to  make  him  sus- 
picious, though  not  enough  to  be  perceptible  to  me. 
It  was  some  consolation,  however,  to  be  sure  that  if 
I  had  hooked  him  he  would  almost  certainly  have 
broken  me  in  the  weeds  or  rushes. 

And  even  though  I  failed  with  him  I  had  done 
very  well  by  the  time  I  turned  downstream  with  an 


THE  FISHING  DAY  69 

eye  to  tea  at  the  keeper's  cottage.  I  had  killed  two 
and  a  half  brace  since  lunch  and  they  averaged  very 
nearly  a  pound  and  a  half,  which  was  extra  good  for 
Driffield  Beck  at  that  time.  The  biggest  was  a  fat 
specimen  of  one  pound  fifteen  ounces,  as  high  a 
weight  as  Driffield  ever  gave  me,  during  visits  con- 
tinued several  years  running.  Though  I  believe  there 
were  monsters  (and  no  doubt  still  are)  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  river,  in  the  upper  part  two-pounders  were 
not  often  caught.  The  weight  of  the  fish,  however, 
seemed  to  be  going  up  by  all  accounts,  so  perhaps 
two-pounders  are  more  plentiful  now. 

In  the  same  year,  by  the  way,  I  had  another  good 
day  with  the  ginger  quill,  also  getting  most  of  my 
sport  in  the  afternoon.  That  was  on  the  famous 
shallows  at  Longparish  on  the  Test.  On  that 
occasion  too  I  had  troubles,  not  in  losing  fish,  but 
in  finding  a  fly  to  suit  them.  When  found  the  fly 
proved  irresistible,  and  at  last  I  began  returning 
fish  through  sheer  satiety.  All  the  trout  seemed 
to  run  about  the  same  size,  about  one  pound  two 
ounces  each,  and  I  could  find  nothing  bigger  to  fish 
for  except  two  or  three  tailers  which  were  un- 
responsive. My  companion  that  day,  the  good 
R.  B.  M.  so  well  known  to  angling  fame,  had  an  exactly 
similar  experience.  With  the  exception  of  one  fish  I 
think  our  united  catch  would  not  have  varied  more 
than  an  ounce  or  two,  and  it  would  have  been  hard  to 


70  TROUT  FISHING 

find  a  more  level  lot  of  trout.  The  exception  was  a 
rather  ill-conditioned  trout  of  a  pound  and  a  half 
caught,  not  on  the  shallow,  but  on  the  narrower 
water  below. 

The  Longparish  shallow  is  the  place  famous  in 
history  as  the  scene  of  Colonel  Hawker's  equestrian 
fishing.  He  used,  we  are  told,  to  do  his  wading  by 
proxy  and  catch  great  store  of  trout  from  his  horse's 
back,  fishing  his  wet  flies  presumably  downstream. 
After  a  wet  winter  I  have  no  doubt  such  a  thing 
could  still  be  done  there  with  success.  R.  B.  M. 
and  I  were  there  after  a  wet  winter,  and  the  river 
held  a  lot  of  water.  We  were  able  to  wade  upstream 
abreast,  and  so  wide  is  the  Test  there  that  we  might 
have  been  fishing  different  streams.  There  would 
have  been  room  for  probably  two  more  rods  between 
us.  It  was  a  memorable  day,  none  the  less  because 
I  believe  we  were  the  first  anglers  on  the  water  that 
year. 

More  recently  I  had  the  privilege  of  another  day 
there  in  company  with  "  D.  O'C.,"  whose  initials 
are  also  well  known  to  the  brotherhood,  and  I  was 
interested  to  renew  my  impressions  of  the  place.  It 
may  have  been  imagination,  but  there  seemed  to  be 
less  water  than  at  the  earlier  visit,  and  it  did  not 
look  as  though  four  rods  abreast  would  be  a  possi- 
bility any  longer.  There  had,  on  this  occasion,  been 
a  dry  winter,  and  of  course  it  may  have  been  that 


THE  FISHING  DAY  71 

weed-cutting  below  had  lowered  the  level  of  the 
river.  Anyhow  the  place  looked  different.  What 
also  interested  me  very  much  was  to  find  the  fish 
a  good  deal  bigger  than  they  had  been  before.  We 
saw  plenty  of  two-pounders.  It  was  a  thundery, 
flyless  day,  and  there  was  little  to  be  done  with  them, 
but  I  got  one  nice  fish  of  two  pounds  six  ounces.  This 
second  visit  was  in  July,  a  month  later  in  the  year 
than  the  first  had  been,  and  it  may  be  that  the  big  fish 
are  later  in  taking  up  their  quarters,  which  was  one 
explanation  given  to  me.  I  have  noticed  a  similar 
thing  elsewhere,  but  one  expects  to  find  most  chalk 
stream  trout  in  their  chosen  haunts  by  June. 

I  had  a  curious  afternoon  experience  on  another 
very  wide  water,  a  portion  of  a  beautiful  Kennet 
fishery,  not  long  before  the  war  broke  out.  It  was 
a  bright  day  towards  the  end  of  June,  the  Mayfly 
was  over,  and  the  trout  were  as  timid  as  hares, 
which  they  also  resembled  in  their  speed  of  de- 
parture. I  was  fishing  from  the  bank,  and  was  quite 
unable  to  get  my  fly  to  any  fish  without  alarming 
him.  In  due  course  I  reached  the  top  of  the  water, 
where  it  is  at  its  widest,  decided  that  I  was  beaten, 
and  started  to  come  down  again.  And  as  I  came 
down  I  became  aware  that  some  of  the  fish  which 
I  had  frightened  were  back  in  their  positions  near 
the  bank.  At  one,  which  looked  a  portly  figure 
seen  end  on,  I  aimed  my  fly,  drifting  it  downstream. 


72  TROUT  FISHING 

The  trout  took  it  with  the  utmost  confidence,  and 
I  got  him  out  after  a  good  fight,  a  two-pounder. 
And   after  that   I   hooked   several  more,   landing 
three  not  quite  so  big  as  the  first,  and  losing  others. 
All  were  approached  downstream  by  drifting,  a 
method  which  has  very  seldom  before  given  me  any 
results  worth  mentioning.     It  was  an  eye-opener 
to  me  that  such  shy  fish  should  be  more  approach- 
able  from   above   than   from   below.     And   I   am 
afraid  I  must  add  that  it  was  a  pleasant  surprise 
to  me  to  find  that  I  could  catch  a  trout  of  any  size 
by  drifting.     Previously  I  had  had  a  sort  of  fatalistic 
conviction  that  I  should  be  absolutely  certain  to 
pull  the  fly  away  out  of  the  mouth  of  any  large 
trout  to  which  I  might  succeed  in  drifting  it.     I 
have  since  tried  the  plan  again  in  that  place  with 
some  success,  so  I  hope  I  may  have  learnt  something 
from  the  experience. 

Though  I  have  proved  to  myself  that  the  after- 
noon is  probably  as  good  as  the  morning,  and  some- 
times better,  I  much  prefer  a  day  on  which  the 
morning  lives  up  to  its  good  repute.  I  do  not  need 
many  fish  to  make  me  happy.  If  on  the  chalk 
stream  I  have  a  brace  by  lunch  time  I  am  well 
content,  and  to  have  got  into  double  figures  by 
then  seems  good  work  in  wet-fly  fishing.  Occa- 
sionally, though  not  often,  it  has  happened  to  me 
that  the  morning  has  been  too  prosperous.  Once  I 


A  Blazing  Day 
on  the  Test 


THE  FISHING  DAY  73 

fished  a  ticket-water  where  the  limit  was  three  brace 
of  twelve-inch  fish,  where  a  pounder  was  considered  a 
good  one,  and  where  a  brace  of  pounders  was  esteemed 
good  hunting.  On  that  occasion  I  found  it  a  very 
good  ticket-water  indeed,  the  best  ticket -water  I 
had  ever  happened  upon.  Or  perhaps  it  was  (a 
thought  which  occurred  to  me  in  after-meditation) 
that  I  was  a  much  better  fisherman  than  I  had 
imagined.  For  I  could  not  help  catching  the  trout. 
They  simply  came  and  seized  my  fly  and  refused 
to  get  off.  I  returned  a  number,  but  even  so  my 
basket  insisted  on  growing,  and  at  two  o'clock  I 
found  that  all  was  over.  The  three  brace  were 
caught  and  killed  (they  averaged  over  one  pound 
too),  luncheon  was  eaten,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  go  home.  The  real  rise  began  at  two,  and  the 
fish  were  then  madly  on  the  feed.  I  went  home, 
thinking  that  in  future  I  should  be  well  advised  not 
to  devote  a  whole  day  to  so  easy  a  fishery.  Fate, 
however,  evens  things  up  to  us.  Since  that  day  the 
best  basket  I  have  been  able  to  make  on  that  water, 
doing  all  I  knew,  has  been  three.  And  I  quite  see 
that  a  brace  of  pounders  there  is  good  hunting. 

That  day  gave  me  a  nightmare.  With  its  brisk 
sport  and  its  anxiety  as  to  not  reaching  the  limit 
too  soon,  it  set  me  on  dreaming  during  the  night. 
And  I  dreamed  that  I  was  fishing  a  stream  belonging 
to  a  club  of  which  I  am  proud  to  be  a  member,  a 


74  TROUT  FISHING 

club  with  very  high  ideals  as  to  what  is  sporting.  I 
fished  and  I  had  exceptionally  good  sport,  even  for 
a  dream.  And  presently  there  came  along  the  bank 
our  honorary  secretary,  who  is  perhaps  the  best 
sportsman  of  us  all.  He  asked  if  I  had  done  any- 
thing. "  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  have  done  very  well." 
And  I  showed  him  my  creel,  how  it  brimmed  over. 
"  And  here  " — I  led  him  a  little  way  along  the  bank 
to  where  a  glistening  heap  of  trout  lay  covered  with 
fresh-cut  sedges — "  and  here  " — yet  a  few  yards  off 
was  another  similar  heap.  There  must  have  been 
seventy  or  eighty  large  trout  in  all.  But  our 
secretary  said  no  word.  He  simply  looked  sorrowful 
and  turned  away.  And  as  he  went  I  remembered 
for  the  first  time  that  our  limit  on  the  water  was 
at  present  two  brace.  I  woke  in  a  cold  perspiration 
of  horror  at  the  thing  which  I  had  done. 

Or  perhaps  it  was  not  that  day  which  gave  me 
that  nightmare,  perhaps  it  was  that  other  day  on 
Caradoc's  preserve  when  I  had  a  great  basket  of  five 
brace.  "  Five  brace,  my  dear  fellow,  is  our  limit," 
he  had  said,  so  I  seized  opportunity  by  the  forelock 
and  slew  them.  And  then  when  I  reported  progress 
with  great  pride,  he  looked  grave  at  me.  "  But  for 
our  guests,"  he  said,  "  the  limit  is  four  brace." 
However,  I  fear  I  never  took  that  misdeed  much  to 
heart.  These  class  distinctions  are  odious. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE     EVENING 

THE  evening  in  fishing  begins,  to  my  mind,  as 
nearly  as  possible  at  five  o'clock.  The  interval 
between  afternoon  and  evening  is  bridged  by  tea, 
that  modest  stimulant  which  is  so  refreshing  to  mind 
and  body  after  a  hot,  tiring,  and  possibly  unpro- 
ductive day.  Nearly  all  my  friends  laugh  at  my 
enthusiasm  for  tea,  but  I  do  not  mind  how  much 
they  laugh  so  long  as  they  do  not  interfere  with  my 
plans  for  ensuring  it.  And  I  have  converted  a  man 
here  and  there  to  my  way  of  thinking,  for  which  I 
do  not  always  get  thanked.  There  is  nobody  so 
desolate  as  the  person  accustomed  to  afternoon 
tea  when  for  any  reason  that  luxury  is  not  obtain- 
able. The  angler  who  has  grown  to  be  accustomed 
to  it  would  be  well  advised  to  take  some  trouble  to 
get  it,  The  provision  of  tea  sometimes  seems  a 
new  and  rather  revolutionary  idea  to  dames  who 
inhabit  riverside  cottages,  but  after  coquetting  with 
it  awhile  they  usually  come  to  see  that  it  is  not  one 
of  the  impossibilities,  and  presently  you  will  find  that 
they  take  quite  kindly  to  the  business.  Failing  the 

75 


76  TROUT  FISHING 

convenient  cottage  or  handy  inn,  there  is  of  late 
years  the  new  resource  of  the  vacuum  flask,  so 
nobody  now  need  despair  of  tea  at  the  proper  time. 

To  some  stern  souls  this  zeal  for  tea  may  seem 
contemptible,  but  I  could  advance  many  things  in 
extenuation.  Apart  altogether  from  the  question 
of  food  and  drink,  it  seems  to  me  no  bad  thing  to  put 
a  definite  line  between  the  afternoon  and  the 
evening  fishing.  Thus  you  make  your  fishing  day 
more  important,  and  perhaps  more  interesting. 
Divided  into  parts  the  day  has  more  variety,  seems 
longer,  and  gives  more  opportunity  for  the  feeding 
of  that  hope  which  is  apt  to  be  somewhat  starved 
after  the  lapse  of  a  few  hours.  The  intervals  for 
lunch  and  tea,  if  they  do  nothing  else,  afford  oppor- 
tunities for  reflection,  and  reflection  should  calm 
the  mind  and  stimulate  the  imagination.  By  the 
time  the  tobacco  is  lighted  the  angler  is  fit  to  fare 
forth  and  conquer,  however  many  reverses  he  may 
have  known  during  preceding  hours. 

I  am  inclined  to  think — nay,  I  am  sure — that  a 
further  interval  for  dinner  is  also  an  excellent  thing 
in  circumstances  where  it  is  possible.  It  makes  the 
day  still  more  important,  and  it  also  makes  a  sort 
of  midnight  dinner  unnecessary.  In  high  summer 
you  can  go  on  fishing  till  ten  o'clock,  but  it  plays 
havoc  with  your  conscience  if  you  know  all  the  time 
that  there  are  unfortunate  people  waiting  to  give 


THE  EVENING  77 

you  a  meal  afterwards.  Besides,  it  cannot  be  good 
for  the  digestion  to  dine  at  half-past  ten  and  to 
go  to  bed  almost  immediately.  A  dinner  interval 
about  a  quarter  to  seven  by  all  means,  and  if  that  be 
not  possible,  take  out  what  used  to  be  called  a  "  cold 
collation  "  and  eat  it  on  the  bank.  The  idea  of 
taking  out  supper  never  occurred  to  me  till  I  read 
Mr.  Raymond  Hill's  attractive  book  Wings  and 
Hackle  some  years  ago.  Since,  however,  I  have 
frequently  acted  on  his  advice  and  have  had  great 
gain  from  it. 

For  a  good  many  years  the  evening  has  been  more 
associated  in  my  mind  with  dry-fly  streams  than  with 
others  because  most  of  my  summer  fishing  has  been 
done  on  them.  A  July  evening  should  be  divisible 
into  several  distinct  periods,  each  of  which  has  its 
special  interest.  First  there  is  what  I  call  the 
smutting  time,  which  greets  you  as  you  come  back 
from  your  tea.  From  five  till  perhaps  six  or  a  bit 
later  in  certain  spots  which  you  know  well  there 
will  be  the  laziest  possible  dimpling  of  the  surface 
by  trout  which  have  found  something  just  worth 
eating,  something  invisible  to  you  and  not  apparently 
very  filling  to  the  eye  even  of  fish.  Of  all  risers  at 
any  time  of  day  or  season  these  after-tea  dimplers 
in  July  seem  to  me  the  most  difficult.  They  will 
only  condescend  to  notice  the  tiniest  flies  tied  to  the 
finest  gut,  and  if  they  do  chance  to  rise  at  you  you 


78  TROUT  FISHING 

do  not  hook  them,  or  but  hook  them  to  lose 
them  at  once.  This  period  of  the  evening  is 
supremely  unproductive,  and  I  have  practically 
abandoned  hope  of  doing  anything  with  these  fish. 
This  in  itself  is  almost  fatal  to  success.  "  I  shan't 
rise  you  and  if  I  do  I  shall  lose  you  " — when  the 
angler  thus  addresses  his  prospective  quarry  he 
invites  failure  to  be  his  companion. 

There  was  once  a  huge  trout  in  a  hatch-hole.  I 
knew  him  well  but  had  never  seen  him  rise,  nor  did 
I  believe  him  capable  of  it.  He  seemed  to  me  one 
of  those  established  features  which  add  dignity  to 
a  fishing  without  any  risk  of  being  upset.  Most 
waters  possess  such  fish,  much  as  London  possesses 
the  Tower  and  St.  Paul's.  Your  only  lawful  chance 
with  them  is  with  a  red  sedge  at  twilight,  and  if  you 
do  hook  one  of  them  then,  it  generally  proves  to  be 
a  smaller  brother  after  all.  Irish  anglers,  at  any 
rate,  will  know  what  I  mean.  Well,  one  evening 
about  half- past  five  I  came  to  the  head  of  the  hatch- 
hole,  to  find  it  low  and  placid ;  the  customary  stream 
was  diverted  into  carriers,  and  the  usual  turmoil 
had  quite  ceased.  I  looked  and  was  about  to  cross 
over  and  go  on  when  I  saw  a  dimple  in  the  far  corner 
downstream.  This  seemed  worth  investigating  so 
I  went  round  and  peeped.  There  in  but  a  few 
inches  of  water  was  the  big  trout,  and  he  raised  his 
nose  as  I  watched  and  took  another  trifle.  In  great 


THE  EVENING  79 

alarm  I  put  a  fly  to  him,  in  greater  I  saw  him  open 
his  mouth  at  it,  and  in  greatest  I  wildly  pulled  it 
away  just  at  the  critical  moment.  Whereupon  the 
fish  sought  the  depths,  making  a  great  wave  as  he 
went.  Nor  did  I  ever  see  him  again.  I  verily 
believe  I  should  have  caught  the  fish  and  become 
famous  in  that  district  if  it  had  not  been  between 
five  and  six.  As  it  was,  I  knew  I  should  not  get 
him  and  didn't.  I  never  catch  one  of  any  size 
during  that  barren  hour,  at  any  rate  while  the  days 
are  long.  Why  fish,  then  ?  some  one  will  ask.  The 
fact  that  trout  can  be  seen  rising  seems  a  sufficient 
answer;  and,  besides,  there  are  always  surprises  in 
store  even  for  the  most  unsuccessful. 

The  next  period  of  the  evening  is  one  of  absolute 
nothingness.  No  fly,  no  rises,  no  casting.  This  is 
the  time  in  which  the  angler  should  have  his  dinner, 
or  collation,  as  the  case  may  be.  From  half-past 
six  to  half-past  seven  he  ought  to  be  otherwise  quite 
unemployed.  But  he  should  be  on  the  water  again 
by  half-past  seven,  for  the  fun  may  begin  about 
then,  though  it  may  quite  well  be  deferred  till  half- 
past  eight.  The  most  glorious  evening  rise  that  ever 
I  had  a  share  in — it  was  on  the  Test — began  exactly 
at  half-past  seven,  began  badly  for  me,  for  I  lost  a 
beauty,  the  first  that  rose.  Afterwards,  however, 
I  was  kept  busy  till  long  past  nine.  It  was  an  even- 
ing to  dream  about.  The  fish  meant  business  and 


80  TROUT  FISHING 

demanded  nothing  finicking  in  the  way  of  flies,  but 
were  satisfied  with  a  substantial  orange  quill  on  a 
No.  2  hook.  After  the  first  misadventure  I  think 
I  landed  every  trout  that  took  the  fly  except  the  very 
last,  which  got  off  in  the  dusk  through  being  held 
too  hard.  I  had  four  brace  averaging  over  one  and 
three-quarter  pounds,  and  they  fought  so  fiercely 
that  playing  and  landing  them  literally  occupied 
nearly  the  whole  time ;  there  were  very  short  inter- 
vals between  landing  one  and  hooking  the  next. 
I  do  not  suppose  I  shall  ever  have  such  an  evening 
again.  Very  seldom  indeed  would  it  happen  that 
the  fish  were  in  a  taking  mood  for  long  enough  to 
make  such  a  basket  a  possibility. 

As  a  rule,  what  fish  are  rising  so  early  as  half-past 
seven  are  taking  fallen  spinners,  and  they  generally 
seem  to  me  to  be  very  hard  to  catch.  Probably 
their  shyness  is  due  to  the  angle  of  the  light  at  that 
time  of  day,  and  it  is  possible  that  some  portions 
of  a  stream  would  be  easier  than  others.  Where 
shade  falls  earlier  one's  chances  are  certainly  better. 
There  is  room  for  a  series  of  interesting  experiments 
as  to  the  behaviour  of  rising  fish  at  different  times 
of  day  in  different  parts  of  a  stream.  There  must 
be  a  considerable  variation  in  the  perceptions  of 
trout  which  at  a  given  time  are  lying  with  their 
heads  due  north  and  of  trout  which  at  the  same 
time  are  lying  with  their  heads  due  west.  And  it 


THE  EVENING  81 

may  be  that  one's  conviction  of  the  difficulty  of  fish 
which  are  taking  spinners  is  due  to  the  geographical 
situation  of  the  piece  of  water  where  one  usually 
fishes.  On  another  stretch  one  might  find  them 
easy. 

After  the  fall  of  spinner  comes  the  beginning  of  the 
evening  rise  proper  when  the  blue-winged  olives  are 
hatching  out.  And  here  we  are  faced  with  what 
to  me  seems  the  greatest  mystery  that  there  is  in 
dry-fly  fishing.  This  is  the  extraordinary  fact  that 
on  two  evenings  which  seem  exactly  alike  in  point 
of  weather,  quantity  of  fly,  rising  of  trout,  and  so 
on,  the  effect  of  fishing  is  so  different.  On  the  first 
you  may  rise  and  hook  every  fish  to  which  you  can 
place  a  fly  properly.  On  the  second  you  can  do 
nothing  at  all,  or  almost  nothing.  In  some  cases 
the  fish  simply  take  no  notice  of  any  fly  you  offer 
them.  In  others  you  get  an  occasional  false  or  short 
rise.  In  others  the  effect  of  floating  a  pattern  of  any 
kind  over  them  is  to  put  them  down  at  once.  Unless 
this  curious  contrast  is  also  in  some  way  due  to  the 
light,  I  have  absolutely  no  theory  to  account  for  it. 
Nor  did  I  ever  meet  any  one  who  had. 

Occasionally  I  have  imagined  that  I  have  solved 
the  problem  by  finding  a  particular  fly  which  would 
do  the  trick  on  some  such  evening.  I  have,  for 
instance,  at  times  been  disposed  to  claim  infallibility 
for  Halford's  blue-winged  olives,  for  the  orange 


82  TROUT  FISHING 

quill  which  Mr.  G.  E.  M.  Skues  introduced  to  me, 
and  for  the  blue  upright,  which  I  was  led  first  to  try 
on  chalk  streams  from  previous  experience  with  it 
as  an  evening  fly  on  mountain  streams. 

Not  very  long  ago  another  fly  surprisingly  added 
itself  to  the  list  of  infallibles.  It  happened  during 
an  evening  rise  on  the  Kennet,  when  the  blue- 
winged  olive  was  hatching  out  well.  For  some 
reason  the  fall  of  spinner,  which  usually  makes  a 
certain  number  of  trout  rise,  had  not  done  so  on  this 
evening,  only  an  occasional  ring  having  appeared 
at  long  intervals.  And  for  more  than  two  hours 
the  rod  had  been  quite  idle.  About  half-past  eight, 
however,  the  duns  began  to  hatch  and  soon  after- 
wards the  trout  were  taking  notice  of  them. 
Obviously,  according  to  my  belief  of  the  moment, 
the  orange  quill  or  the  blue-winged  olive  would  do 
what  was  required.  But  neither  pattern  gained  the 
shadow  of  a  rise.  I  changed  to  a  blue  upright. 
That  failed.  I  tried  a  blue  quill,  an  ordinary  olive, 
a  red  quill,  and  several  other  approved  patterns  such 
as  the  coachman.  They  all  failed. 

I  studied  my  fly-box  gloomily  and  at  last  picked 
out  a  GreenwelPs  Glory.  I  felt  no  confidence  in  it 
at  all  for  it  was  a  pattern  which  I  could  not  remember 
ever  floating  dry  over  a  trout  before;  though,  of 
course,  it  is  a  fly  which  many  anglers  use  with 
confidence  as  a  floating  pattern,  I  had  so  far 


THE   EVENING  83 

never  felt  the  need  of  it.  The  specimen  in  question 
was  a  lightly-built  affair  intended  for  wet-fly  work 
and  not  meant  as  a  dry-fly  at  all.  However,  it 
could  be  made  to  float,  nothing  else  seemed  to  be  of 
any  use,  and  the  trial  could  do  no  harm.  By  now 
there  was  not  a  great  deal  of  daylight  left,  and  it 
seemed  improbable  that  the  position  could  be 
redeemed.  But  Greenwell's  Glory  did  redeem  it. 
Every  feeding  fish  that  was  fairly  covered  took  it 
well,  and  the  result  of  about  half  an  hour's  fishing 
was  five  trout  over  one  and  a  half  pounds  landed, 
and  one  hooked  and  lost.  Obviously  Greenwell's 
Glory  must  now  be  a  permanent  occupant  of  the 
fly-box,  and  one  to  be  often  tried. 

Of  course,  as  soon  as  it  was  promoted  to  being  an 
infallible,  Greenwell's  Glory  failed  me  just  as  badly 
as  anything  else.  There  seems  to  be  no  infallible 
fly,  and,  what  is  worse,  no  infallible  selection  of 
flies.  I  have  been  forced  anew  to  the  conclusion 
that  there  are  evenings  on  which  trout  are  not  to  be 
caught  with  anything.  And  the  tragedy  is  that 
they  look  the  best  evenings  of  all. 

After  the  hatch  of  blue-winged  olives  is  over 
there  is  the  chance  of  picking  up  a  fish  or  two  with 
the  sedge.  Sometimes  the  chance  is  very  good. 
Well  do  I  remember  one  occasion  when  the  great 
trout  of  the  Test  were,  so  to  say,  delivered  into  my 
hand.  It  was  to  be  my  record  day.  Despite  great 


84  TROUT  FISHING 

heat,  I  had  during  the  earlier  part  of  it  caught  four 
averaging  over  two  and  a  half  pounds  (one  being 
three  and  a  quarter  pounds),  and  during  the  evening 
I  proposed  to  kill  other  two  brace  without  lowering 
the  average  weight. 

Things  had  not,  however,  prospered  with  me,  for 
the  blue-winged  olive  and  other  small  patterns  had 
failed,  and  I  was  reduced  to  the  picking-up  business 
with  a  red  sedge  in  the  waning  light.  And  then 
the  fish  suddenly  began  to  take.  One  after  another 
they  hurled  themselves  on  my  sedge.  One  after 
another  they  tried  to  pull  it  and  the  line  and  rod 
away  from  me.  Huge  fish  too !  And  one  after 
another  they  let  go  and  returned  to  their  other 
affairs. 

At  the  end  of  all  things  I  felt  for  my  line  in  the 
darkness,  in  order  to  take  off  the  cast.  I  pulled  the 
gut  gingerly  through  my  fingers,  as  one  does,  that 
the  hook  might  do  me  no  damage.  And  there  was 
no  hook !  There  was  a  sedge  all  right,  but  it  had 
lost  not  only  its  point  and  barb,  but  even  the  bend. 
It  was  just  feathers  and  silk  on  a  piece  of  straight 
wire. 

I  remember  that  I  was  profoundly  moved  by  that 
evening,  so  moved  that  I  reported  the  whole  matter 
to  headquarters,  so  to  speak.  I  wrote  to  F.  M. 
Halford  about  it,  letting  him  know  generally  what 
I  thought  of  the  evening  rise  as  an  institution.  I 


THE  EVENING  85 

wrote  very  strongly,  asking  what  he  thought  we 
could  do  about  it.  He  replied  to  the  effect  that  the 
best  thing  we  could  do  about  it  was  for  the  future  to 
"  Keep  quite  calm." 

If  memory  serves  me,  Scott's  little  friend  Marjorie 
Fleming,  in  precocious  rhyme,  immortalised  the  fowl 
who  was  "  more  than  usual  calm,  She  did  not  give  a 
single  dam,"  when  the  ducklings  undutifully  made 
for  the  water,  or  when  some  other  domestic  event 
happened,  whose  precise  nature  eludes  me.  Halford 
meant,  of  course,  that  I  should  be  exceeding  calm 
like  that,  even  when  my  fly  undutifully  sought  the 
thistles,  or  when  other  untoward  things  happened. 
But  he  meant  more.  I  might  conceivably  win 
through  an  evening  rise  without  profanity,  but,  as 
for  keeping  quite  calm,  that  is  another  thing.  For, 
though  I  have  seen  many  an  evening  rise  and 
occasionally  done  right  well,  it  passes  my  skill  to 
greet  a  new  one  with  calmness  unless  for  some  reason 
I  do  not  particularly  want  to  catch  fish,  which  almost 
never  happens.  Usually  I  want  to  catch  something 
very  badly,  because  tea  time  has  found  me  a 
shattered  wreck  with  nothing  in  my  creel.  And  my 
proceedings  during  the  stages  of  the  rise  are  too 
often  as  follows.  The  evening  rise,  as  said,  begins 
at  5  p.m.  Its  first  portion  consists  of  a  few,  very 
few,  depressed  fish  making  tiny  dimples  at  nothing. 
As  also  said,  I  cannot  catch  these  fish.  I  use  a 


86  TROUT  FISHING 

hackle  red  quill  on  a  "  short "  00  hook,  which  I 
flatter  myself  is  no  bigger  to  a  fish's  eye  than  a  000. 
I  do  not  use  it,  though,  till  I  have  put  a  black  smut 
on  the  new  point,  looked  at  it  distrustfully,  and 
then  taken  it  off  again  untried.  This  custom  is 
almost  invariable.  The  mental  process  is  something 
like  this  :  "  That  is  the  sort  of  fish  that  wants  a  black 
smut.  This  is  the  black  smut  it  wants.  Good. 
But,  come  to  think  of  it,  does  the  fish  want  a  black 
smut?  Ought  it  to?  The  black  smut  is  a  thing 
for  the  daytime.  It  is  true  that  the  sun  is  burning 
a  hole  in  my  back,  but  this  is  the  evening  rise.  No, 
a  hackle  red  quill  is  what  must  go  on."  So  it  goes 
on,  and  as  exactly  as  I  can  I  have  told  why. 

To  continue,  the  depressed  fish  go  on  dimpling, 
"  here  a  trout,  and  there  a  grayling,"  till  about  six. 
By  that  time  I  have  put  a  selection  down  (boasting, 
however,  one  short  rise),  and  the  others  have  gone 
down  of  their  own  accord,  or  by  the  laws  of  gravity. 
Then  I  go  on  to  where,  on  a  swift  shallow,  are  what 
an  ingenious  friend  calls  the  "  decoys."  These  fish 
rise  always,  morning,  evening,  night,  hail,  snow, 
shine,  or  earthquake — at  least,  I  believe  so.  They 
constitute  the  second  period  of  the  evening  rise. 
On  this  shallow  I  always  see  two  light-coloured  duns, 
and  I  always  say  :  "  Ha  !  It's  beginning."  They 
are  decoys,  too.  So  I  put  on  a  ginger  quill,  and  a 
pale  watery,  and  a  Wickham  (which  is  so  good  for 


THE  EVENING  87 

chance  fish),  and  a  sherry  spinner,  and  one  or  two 
other  things.  The  period  ends  with  the  decoy  trout 
not  quite  so  exuberant  as  they  were  and  a  winged 
red  quill  on  my  line. 

I  come  now,  having  left  the  decoys,  to  the  third 
period.  This  begins  with  me  sitting  on  my  basket 
at  a  bend  in  the  stream  favourable  to  observation, 
and  saying  to  myself  that  the  two  light-coloured 
duns  were  one  of  Nature's  accidents.  I  then  tell 
myself  that  I  shall  do  no  good  by  wasting  any  more 
energy  till  the  rise  proper  begins.  The  wise  man  sits 
on  his  basket,  and  takes  the  gut  ends  out  of  the  eyes 
of  flies  which  he  has  been  changing.  So,  this  decided, 
I  spring  up  and  rush  feverishly  to  the  top  of  the 
water  to  see  if  the  evening  rise  is  beginning  there. 
As  I  go  I  change  the  red  quill  (which  has  not  yet 
touched  the  water)  for  a  blue  upright.  It  is  a 
fumbling  business  to  change  a  fly  as  you  hurry 
along,  but  it  saves  time  perhaps.  As  I  come  back 
from  the  top  of  the  water  the  blue  upright  is  changed 
for  a  sherry  spinner,  because,  of  course,  that  is  the 
fly  that  is  going  to  do  the  trick  when  the  fish  begin. 
So  the  third  period  ends,  with  me  sitting  on  the 
basket  and  a  sherry  spinner  stuck  in  a  ring. 

The  fourth  period  begins  with  me  standing  watch- 
ful at  a  bend  of  the  stream,  thoughtfully  changing 
the  sherry  spinner  for  a  blue  upright,  a  fly  in  which 
I  have  the  utmost  confidence  for  evening  work. 


88  TROUT  FISHING 

It  ends  with  me  standing  on  the  qui  vive  a  hundred 
yards  higher  up.  I  am,  if  you  do  me  the  honour  to 
observe  me,  changing  the  blue  upright  for  a  Tup's 
indispensable. 

Now,  at  last,  somewhere  between  half-past  seven 
and  eight,  begins  the  fifth  period.  A  rise,  two 
rises,  three  rises,  and  there  are  flies  of  some  sort, 
transparent  things,  dancing  in  the  air.  So  I  change 
the  Tup  for  a  blue-winged  olive  (which  every  one 
knows  to  be  the  evening  fly  for  July),  and  proceed 
laboriously  to  put  the  fish  down  with  it.  I  do  not 
realise  that  I  am  doing  so,  of  course.  A  series  of 
mischances  is  attributed  to  unskilful  casting,  shyness 
of  the  fish,  to  anything  you  like.  Presently  the 
blue  upright  is  given  a  trial,  and  it  gains  two  or  three 
short  rises.  The  hackle  red  quill  is  of  no  effect. 
In  a  flash  then  comes  the  realisation  that  the  sherry 
spinner  is,  of  course,  the  thing.  It  goes  on,  and  has 
not  the  slightest  result.  Then  I  remember  that 
those  transparent  things  in  the  air  were  spinners. 
The  flat-winged  imitation  ought  to  have  been  tried 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  ago,  not  now,  when  the 
spinner  is  all  over. 

So  now  we  enter  upon  the  sixth  period,  when  the 
fish  are  really  rising  and  the  light  is  growing  less. 
What  are  they  rising  at?  The  blue-winged  olive. 
Am  I  keeping  quite  calm  ?  No,  I  am  putting  on  a 
sedge,  and  a  black  smut,  and  a  red  olive  spinner,  and 


THE  EVENING  89 

a  blue  upright,  and  a  Wickham,  and  a  red  quill, 
and  a  cochybonddu,  and  a  coachman.  And  the  fish 
are  disdaining  each  with  a  deeper  disdain,  or  being 
terrified  of  each  with  a  greater  terror,  according  as 
is  their  mood. 

The  seventh  period  begins  with  a  slackening  of 
rises  as  the  fish  find  the  blue-winged  olives  petering 
out.  Precisely  as  the  rise  ends  I  remember  what 
is  the  fly,  and  get  it  on  to  the  cast  somehow  in  the 
gloom.  Looking  along  the  path  of  light  towards 
the  west,  by  good  luck  I  see  a  quiet  dimple,  at  a  sedge 
of  course.  The  blue-winged  olive  reaches  the  spot, 
is  taken  (because  darkness  covers  many  sins),  and 
the  miserable  little  hook  fails  to  hold  the  four- 
pounder,  for  which  I  have  yearned  all  the  season. 
A  good,  sensible  sedge  on  a  No.  4  hook,  and  the 
fish  would  have  been  mine.  That  sedge  is  put  on 
now  at  last  with  the  aid  of  a  match,  but  it  is  too 
dark  to  see  any  more.  So  ends  another  evening 
rise. 

I  will  not  pass  on  Halford's  advice  to  any  dis- 
tressed reader.  If  an  angler  loses  his  calmness 
during  the  evening  rise  I  say  that  he  is  quite  within 
his  rights.  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  not  his  duty  so 
to  do.  Nine  times  out  of  ten  it  is  a  maddening 
business. 

Two  special  evenings  remain  in  my  memory  as 
illustrating  how  tantalising  evening  fishing  can  be, 


90  TROUT  FISHING 

though  they  remain  with  me  pleasurably.  My 
feeling  in  regard  to  them  is  awed  rather  than 
indignant.  I  was  fishing  a  river  which  had  suffered 
grievously  from  pollution,  and  which  was  supposed 
to  have  lost  a  large  part  of  its  stock  of  fish,  either 
because  they  had  migrated  downstream  or  because 
they  had  been  killed  outright.  My  impression  at 
the  end  of  a  long  hot  tramp  of  some  miles  was  that 
there  was  truth  in  the  story  of  pollution,  that  the 
big  trout  and  grayling  had  mostly  disappeared, 
but  that  things  were  now  improving.  I  had  seen  a 
sprinkling  of  small  trout  and  myriads  of  tiny  gray- 
ling. But  as  for  sport  I  had  had  none. 

By  the  time  the  day  was  dead,  and  the  evening 
moribund,  I  reflected  that  the  fishing  had  been  very 
much  like  the  day,  for  hardly  a  rise  was  to  be  seen 
anywhere,  at  any  rate  from  anything  of  more  than 
six  inches  long.  Perpetual  observation  of  a  river 
which  is  dimpled  in  all  directions  by  grayling  under 
that  length  is  trying  to  the  temper,  especially  when 
you  suffer  all  the  time  from  great  heat  accompanied 
by  a  thundery  sort  of  glare.  Even  the  most  opti- 
mistic angler  gets  tired  of  casting  to  those  dimples 
and  pretending  that  they  are  worth  the  trouble. 

But  now  all  that  was  over  and  the  evening  also 
was  drawing  to  a  close.  It  had  produced  one 
disaster,  a  two-pound  trout  which  had  unhooked 
himself  after  taking  an  orange  quill,  and  further 


THE  EVENING  91 

there  had  been  nothing.  The  whole  side  stream 
had  been  patrolled  without  the  sight  of  another  fish, 
and  now  I  stood  at  the  head  of  the  hatch-hole 
wondering  what  I  had  better  do,  whether  follow  the 
main  stream  up  against  the  light  or  go  quickly 
back  and  go  over  the  side  stream  again. 

Nothing  of  course  was  rising  in  the  hatch-hole — 
nothing  ever  does  when  you  are  on  the  spot.  Besides 
it  is  not  a  "  rising "  sort  of  place,  small,  deep, 
turbulent,  and  very  difficult  to  fish  without  a  drag. 
Only  in  the  right-hand  corner  is  there  anything  like 
a  steady  bit  of  stream,  a  short  narrow  run  just 
towards  the  eye  of  the  eddy  where  it  meets  the 
foam.  It  is  the  sort  of  place  where  a  good  trout 
might  rise,  and  where  a  good  angler  might  be 
excused  for  missing  him.  To  cast  a  short  line  from 
the  wall  above  across  a  clump  of  rushes  and  hanging 
grasses  and  also  over  a  belt  of  drift  weeds  on  to  a 
rather  rippled  stream,  and  to  make  sure  of  "  con- 
verting "  a  rise,  is  not  an  easy  matter. 

The  eye  surveyed  this  place  disparagingly.  The 
hand  to  which  the  eye  belonged  had  made  sad 
bungles  of  similar  places.  And  anyhow  there  was 
nothing  rising.  But,  stay,  what  was  that  ?  A  trail 
of  dark  weed?  Surely.  And  yet — and  would 
that  be  another  trail  of  weed  a  bit  further  out 
and  higher  up  ?  Confound  the  light,  or  rather  lack 
of  light !  Who  could  be  sure,  looking  southwards 


92  TROUT  FISHING 

at  this  time  of  a  thundery  evening,  what  those 
shadows  might  be  ?  But  ha  !  Trails  of  weed  do 
not  shift  their  position.  They  waggle  sometimes, 
but  they  do  not  move  their  centre  of  gravity.  Have 
at  them  1 

To  be  brief,  it  proved  that  the  two  shapes  belonged 
to  two  great  red  trout  which  had  come  up  from  the 
foaming  depths  to  lie  "  at  the  ready  "  in  the  back- 
glide.  And  an  orange  quill  made  one  of  the  shapes 
tilt  upwards  at  the  first  offer.  And  at  the  next 
there  was  a  disturbance  among  the  ripples,  and  the 
raised  hand  felt,  just  felt,  a  rock-like  resistance. 
One  of  the  monsters  had  been  risen  and  lost.  Then 
the  atrocious  light  gave  out  and  nothing  more  could 
be  seen. 

Next  evening — the  day  had  been  almost  as  dead 
as  its  predecessor — was  better  and  brighter,  and  the 
point  of  observation  was  reached  earlier.  Ye  gods, 
what  a  sight !  Not  two,  but  four  great  red  shapes 
lying  in  the  narrow  strip  of  backwash  with  a  vague 
suggestion  of  a  fifth  beyond.  There  was  only  just 
room  for  them,  and  now  and  then  one  would  cruise 
out  to  the  cheek  of  the  eddy,  now  and  then  one  would 
drive  another  away.  Believe  me,  it  is  an  impressive 
sight  to  see  a  trout  of  five  pounds  four  ounces  giving 
the  cold  shoulder  to  a  trout  of  five  pounds  two 
ounces.  It  makes  the  spine  crawl  with  varied 
emotions.  And  presently,  swimming  tumultuously 


THE  EVENING  93 

across  the  centre  torrent,  came  for  a  brief  instant 
into  the  field  of  vision  a  huge  whitish  figure  which 
positively  dwarfed  the  others.  But  it  sheered  off 
again  and  was  seen  no  more. 

As  for  the  capture  of  a  brace  or  a  leash  of  these 
prodigious  fish  I  have  no  intention  of  relating  it. 
All  flies,  of  course,  were  tried,  tried  with  fury.  Some 
of  them  tilted  a  nose  or  so.  One,  and  one  only, 
opened  a  cavernous  pair  of  jaws.  But  eventually 
the  light  failed  as  before,  the  shapes  faded  from 
view  one  by  one,  and  the  opportunity  was  gone. 
Never  have  I  known  anything  more  tantalising. 
For  I  am  sure  I  have  never  in  my  life  seen  so  many 
really  big  trout  at  such  close  quarters,  or  so  massed 
that  one  fly  might  conceivably  rise  any  one  of  them. 
In  sober  earnestness  I  believe  the  smallest  of  the 
lot  was  well  over  three  pounds. 

The  rest  of  the  evening,  about  half  an  hour  when 
facing  the  afterglow,  was  ridiculous.  I  settled  down 
to  besiege  a  big  trout  in  the  main  river  rising  close 
under  my  own  bank.  Sometimes  he  came  up  with 
a  resounding  plop  close  in,  sometimes  more  gently 
about  a  foot  out.  I  tried  five  different  patterns 
over  him  and  finally  hooked  him  on  a  blue  upright 
in  the  outer  position.  He  jumped  when  hooked  and 
fell  in  again  with  a  miserable  little  splash.  There 
had  been  two  fish,  great-grandfather  and  great- 
grandson,  rising  side  by  side,  and  my  long  and 


94  TROUT  FISHING 

conscientious   efforts   had   been   rewarded   by   the 
latter.     And  so  home. 

I  shall  never  solve  the  mystery  of  those  great  fish 
in  a  river  which  was  supposed  to  have  lost  its  stock. 
I  should  have  been  tempted  to  think  them  ghosts 
but  for  the  fact  that  I  felt  one  of  them.  Their 
appearance  under  water  was  strongly  suggestive  of 
the  phantom  ships  in  the  late  Mr.  Hope  Hodgson's 
extraordinary  book  The  Ghost  Pirates.  Presumably 
what  had  happened  was  that  the  pollution  had  been 
enough  to  kill  the  fly-food  of  the  river  down  for  a 
time,  but  not  enough  to  kill  the  big  trout.  They 
possibly  took  to  bottom-feeding  from  necessity,  and 
so  to  a  large  extent  vanished  from  human  ken.  In 
that  part  much  of  the  water  is  deep  and  heavy  and 
trout  resolutely  near  the  bottom  would  be  quite 
invisible. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   FLY   QUESTION 

THE  story  of  the  message  sent  downstream  by 
G.  S.  Marryat  to  Francis  Francis,  who  had  inquired 
what  fly  was  responsible  for  the  master's  visible 
and  tantalising  success,  seems  to  me  to  enshrine 
a  considerable  truth.  Marryat,  we  are  told,  said 
that  the  responsible  agent  was  "  the  Driver."  Where- 
upon Francis  asked  what  that  might  be.  So  a 
second  message  came  down,  "  Tell  him  it's  not  the 
fly  but  the  driver." 

The  fly  question  has  probably  produced  more 
puzzlement  and  brain-storms  than  anything  else 
in  fishing.  It  seems  absolutely  impossible  to  reduce 
it  to  anything  like  a  clear  and  simple  system.  Even 
when,  after  many  years  of  experiment  and  the 
collation  of  a  great  number  of  experiences,  one  has 
apparently  succeeded  in  evolving  a  few  general 
rules,  the  chances  are  that  the  next  day's  fishing 
will  make  it  necessary  to  revise  them.  The  fish 
will  very  likely  refuse  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  patterns  which  one  has  just  decided  to  be  the 
foundations  of  piscatorial  faith.  In  despair  one 

95 


96  TROUT  FISHING 

looks  through  box  or  book  again,  finds  some  antique 
or  some  exotic  which  has  lain  therein  absolutely 
neglected  and  despised,  puts  it  on  as  a  last  resource, 
and  discovers  that  here  is  a  new-fangled  medicine 
worthy  of  a  hearty  testimonial.  This  sort  of  thing 
must  happen  to  everybody,  and  it  is  very  upsetting 
to  all  plans  for  reducing  things  to  a  system. 

Undoubtedly,  the  case  is  much  worse  for  the 
angler  who  is  dependent,  as  I  am,  on  flies  tied  by 
other  people.  Of  the  five  or  six  superlatively  good 
trout  fishermen  whom  I  know  well  only  one  is  not 
a  fly-dresser,  and  that  one  knows  exactly  what  he 
wants  when  he  gets  his  flies.  I  suspect  him  of 
having  at  any  rate  passed  his  apprenticeship  in 
the  art  in  earlier  days.  Most  of  us,  however,  who 
cannot  tie  flies  are  not  quite  sure  what  we  want, 
and  in  consequence  we  get  a  great  many  things 
that  we  do  not  want.  I  possess  an  incredible 
number  of  abominable  productions  which  call 
themselves  flies,  purchased  at  various  times  in 
foolish  faith  that  they  might  come  in  handy.  This 
is  bad  enough,  but  it  is  much  worse  that  one  or 
other  of  these  monstrosities  will  sometimes  in  the 
most  insolent  manner  prove  itself  capable  of  catching 
fish  when  other  more  respectable  patterns  have 
wholly  failed. 

One  of  the  most  scandalous  instances  of  this 
occurred  on  the  Penydwddwr  some  years  ago.  It 


THE  FLY  QUESTION  97 

was  at  the  end  of  April,  and  we  had  been  having 
a  grievous  time  owing  to  the  wintry  weather  and 
lack  of  fly.  Our  united  catches  had  for  some  days 
barely  found  us  in  breakfast,  and  we  had  got  into 
the  habit  of  going  out  each  morning  without  any 
hope  of  better  things.  One  morning  I  started  thus 
handicapped  (and  more,  for  I  was  afflicted  with  a 
chill  as  well),  and  flogged  aimlessly  downstream 
with  the  usual  assortment  of  flies  and  the  usual  lack 
of  result.  Then  something  induced  me  to  put  on 
the  Bottle-brush.  I  have  always  thought  of  it  as 
the  Bottle-brush  because  it  has  no  other  name  and 
deserves  none — had  rather;  it  is  now  no  more. 
This  creature  was  two  sizes  larger  than  anything 
else  in  my  book  and  was  an  unpleasing  brown  thing 
with  an  inordinate  quantity  of  stiff  stark  hackle 
and  no  wings.  It  was  exactly  like  a  bottle-brush 
in  shape.  Supposed  to  be  a  wet-fly  it  would  have 
needed  a  small  paternoster  lead  to  make  it  sink. 
I  never  met  with  a  pattern  I  disliked  more  on  sight. 
Well,  I  dragged  this  thing  about  the  river  in  a  half- 
hearted way,  and  presently  a  trout  hurled  himself 
upon  it.  I  basketed  him,  and  soon  afterwards 
another,  and  more  followed  until  I  had  amassed 
sixteen  of  excellent  size.  Then  the  disintegration 
of  the  bottle-brush  was  complete — it  was  badly 
tied  as  well  as  horrible  in  appearance — and  there- 
after no  more  could  be  done.  But  I  had  the  best 

H 


98  TROUT  FISHING 

basket,  for  quality,  that  I  ever  achieved  in  that 
small  river.  The  sixteen  compared  favourably  with 
the  threes  and  fives  that  the  other  anglers  produced 
at  tea  time.  And  it  was  all  due  to  a  fly  which  I 
should  never  have  dreamed  of  putting  on  had  I 
not  been  dispirited  and  unwell. 

I  can  remember  a  somewhat  similar  surprise  on 
the  Kennet  a  good  many  years  ago.  This  was  due 
to  a  red  spinner.  Your  red  spinner  is  a  good  fly 
and  a  pretty,  but  for  dry-fly  work  it  should  observe 
certain  conventions.  This  specimen  did  not.  It 
had  a  drooping  whisk  of  soft  hackle  set  rather  askew, 
and  a  pair  of  towering  massive  wings.  It  dated  from 
the  days  when  professional  fly-dressers  (or  some  of 
them)  used  to  say  to  themselves,  "  Ha,  a  dry  fly  ! 
That  usually  has  double  wings.  Let  us  treble  them 
that  it  may  hum  in  the  air  the  better  and  bounce 
upon  the  water."  Adding  just  a  memory  of  hen 
hackle  to  make  the  creature  fly-like,  they  issued 
it  to  the  unsuspecting,  who  assumed  that  a  dry  fly 
owed  its  dryness  to  its  bulk  of  wing.  Such  was  the 
red  spinner  which  I  tied  on  for  the  usual  reason 
that  I  could  do  no  good  with  anything  else.  And 
such  was  the  red  spinner  which,  floating  sideways 
or  upside  down,  secured  me  two  brace  of  good  trout 
that  had  refused  all  kinds  of  properly  dressed  flies. 

Incidents  of  this  kind  are  no  doubt  common  to 
the  experience  of  every  fly  fisher,  and  they  seem  to 


THE  FLY  QUESTION  99 

me  to  prove  that  trout  are  more  than  a  little  prone 
to  run  after  new  things,  an  error  of  judgment  which 
undoes  them  as  it  undoes  human  beings.     This  is 
more  the  case  probably  on  waters  which  are  pretty 
hard  fished.     There  the  inhabitants  undoubtedly 
get  to  know  a  great  deal  about  the  conventional 
patterns  which  are  so  much  brought  under  their 
notice.     Give  them  something  new,  however,  and 
they  will  occasionally  display  extreme  foolishness. 
One  of  the  experiences  which  has  given  me  most 
satisfaction  was  something  of  this  kind.     It  was  the 
first  time  I  ever  visited  that  famous  bit  of  ticket- 
water  at  Winchester  known  as  Chalkley's.     I  knew 
it  by  repute,  of  course,  as  an  extremely  difficult 
fishery,  where,  for  a  new-comer,  the  capture  of  a 
trout  was  esteemed  good  work  and  of  a  brace  fine 
sport.     The  fish  were  plentiful  and  they  rose  freely, 
but  they  had  been  educated  with  all  the  thoroughness 
that  befitted  such  a  home  of  learning  as  Winchester. 
I  approached  the  water  in  consequence  in  great 
humility,  and  was  not  surprised  to  find  that  ginger 
quills,  red  quills,  and  the  rest  made  no  impression 
on  the  tantalising  creatures  that  I  could  see  rising. 
After  half  a  day  I  retired  worsted.     The  morrow, 
however,  found  me  there  again  still  full  of  zeal  and 
eager  to  try  a  new  plan.     This  was  to  give  the  trout 
something  to  which  they  were  not  accustomed.     I 
had  gathered  from  conversation  with  some  of  the 


100  TROUT  FISHING 

habitues  the  day  before  that  most  people  fished  with 
winged-flies,  and  I  thought  I  would  try  the  effect 
of  tiny  hackle  patterns.  The  result  was  a  modest 
triumph  of  two  brace,  besides  which  there  were  two 
or  three  decent  fish  lost  owing  to  the  inadequate 
hold  of  the  small  hooks.  As  a  stranger  I  felt  that 
I  had  done  very  well. 

This  is  not,  of  course,  quite  the  same  thing  as 
surprising  the  fish  into  taking  by  offering  them  some 
strange  new  thing,  for  tiny  hackle  patterns  are 
nothing  startling.  The  startling  fly,  however,  does 
succeed.  A  good  many  anglers  must  remember 
how  for  a  series  of  years  on  the  hard-fished  water 
of  a  certain  well-known  society  the  ingenuity  of 
one  or  two  members  used  to  be  directed  to  inventing 
new  flies,  which  proved  very  successful.  Some  of 
those  flies  were  strange  enough  to  deserve  the  names 
which  were  given  to  them — "  terror,"  "  paralyser," 
and  the  like.  But  they  killed  fish.  It  may  perhaps 
have  been  due  to  the  energy  of  the  chief  inventor 
in  designing  new  patterns  and  so  making  the  earlier 
successes  seem  old-fashioned,  but  my  impression 
used  to  be  that  each  new  fancy  outlived  its  usefulness 
by  the  end  of  a  season,  and  that  next  year  something 
different  would  do  better.  And  I  still  think  that 
the  trout  after  a  time  got  to  know  a  fancy  pattern 
too  well  and  distrusted  it.  Such  a  thing  is  perhaps 
more  noticeable  in  lakes  where  the  wet  flies  used 


THE   FLY  QUESTION  i<Jl 

are  chiefly  of  the  fancy  pattern  kind.  Some  startling 
new  fly  will  often  succeed  very  well,  noticeably  well, 
for  a  time,  but  in  due  course  it  loses  its  magic  and 
becomes  no  better  than  one  of  the  dozen  or  so  of 
general  patterns  which  are  generally  worth  trying. 
Blagdon  Lake  has  known  several  ups  and  downs 
in  fashion  of  this  sort. 

But  I  have  little  doubt  that,  generally  speaking, 
there  is  considerable  merit  in  something  new  in  fly 
fishing  for  trout,  and  that  an  angler  who  finds  him- 
self at  a  loss  on  some  occasion  would  do  well  to  try 
the  effect  of  it.  Of  course  the  novelty  need  not 
consist  in  purely  fancy  attributes.  There  is  a  much 
more  effective  kind  of  novelty  in  an  attempt  to  copy 
a  natural  fly  by  some  new  method,  or  in  the  use  of 
some  material  for  body  or  wings  which  has  not  often 
been  seen  on  the  water  you  are  fishing.  This  is 
where  the  man  who  can  tie  his  own  flies  scores 
so  heavily.  He  need  never  be  satisfied  with  a 
rendering  of  a  fly  which  seems  to  him  inadequate, 
and  he  can  always  be  trying  the  effect  of  some  slight 
change.  He  probably  has  his  materials  with  him, 
and  he  can  do  it  then  and  there  when  an  idea  comes. 
The  rest  of  us  have  to  wait  patiently  while  some  one 
else  does  it  for  us,  and  at  the  quickest  the  obtaining 
of  a  new  fly  takes  several  days. 

The  longer  I  fish  the  more  I  see  the  value  of  skill 
in  fly-tying,  and  were  I  to  begin  over  again,  I  think 


102  TROUT  FISHING 

I  would  learn  to  handle  fly-dressing  materials  before 
I  learnt  the  management  of  rod  and  line.  I  do  not 
think  that  a  man  enjoys  his  fishing  any  the  less 
for  not  tying  his  own  flies,  nor  do  I  think  that  he 
would  save  much  money  by  tying  them  (for  cabinets, 
materials,  tools,  silks,  and  the  other  paraphernalia 
are  attractive  enough  to  induce  lavish  outlay),  but 
I  do  think  that  he  must  be  less  efficient  in  the  art 
of  catching  fish  if  he  cannot  himself  construct  the 
lures  with  which  he  pursues  them.  "  But  think," 
some  one  may  say,  "  how  many  fine  fishermen  there 
are  who  have  this  disability."  It  is  true,  but  it  is 
no  less  true  that  if  they  were  fly-tyers  they  would  be 
better  fishermen  still.  And  I  fancy  there  are  very 
few  of  them  who  would  not  admit  it. 

Occasionally  the  question,  a  curiously  interesting 
albeit  not  a  very  profitable  one,  has  been  raised 
as  to  what  trout -fly  individual  anglers  would  select 
if  they  were  confined  to  the  use  of  a  single  pattern 
for  a  whole  season.  The  problem  is  as  difficult 
as  the  other  test  of  irresolution  which  seeks  to  pin 
a  man  down  to  the  choice  of  a  single  book  for  a 
sojourn  on  a  desert  island.  To  the  individual  who 
finds  neither  the  hundred  best  patterns  nor  the 
hundred  best  books  enough  for  his  normal  require- 
ments, such  a  making-up  of  the  mind  would  be  a 
fearful  proceeding.  But  of  course  for  academic 
purposes  and  with  the  comfortable  certainty  that 


THE   FLY   QUESTION  103 

one  is  not  likely  to  have  to  put  the  matter  to  the 
proof  it  is  amusing  sometimes  to  dally  with  the 
idea.  Moreover,  there  are  anglers  who  have  fished 
a  season  through  with  a  single  pattern,  or  with  but 
one  or  two  changes.  Lord  Grey  in  his  book  on 
fly  fishing  has  set  down  a  short  and  simple  list  of 
flies  which  comes  very  near  the  single-fly  ideal. 
For  dry-fly  work  he  expressed  his  content  with 
four  patterns  (besides  Mayfly  and  sedge),  to  wit, 
medium  olive,  iron  blue,  red  quill,  and  plain  black 
hackle.  For  wet-fly  fishing  his  selection  was  March 
brown,  Greenwell's  Glory,  the  Pennell  No.  1,  red 
quill,  and  black  spider.  W.  C.  Stewart  evidently 
favoured  a  short  and  simple  list  for  his  own  use, 
and  he  advocated  but  six  patterns. 

That  veteran  angler  and  writer,  "  Red  Quill," 
once  described  in  the  Field  the  result  of  a  season's 
dry-fly  fishing  in  which  he  used  but  a  single  pattern, 
the  fly  which  gives  him  his  pen-name.  And  there 
are  a  certain  number  of  single-fly  men  about.  A 
friend  of  mine  had  for  some  years  one  unvarying 
reply  to  the  question  "  What  did  you  get  them  on  ?  " 
It  was  "  A  Wickham."  He  may  sometimes  have 
used  some  other  pattern,  but  I  never  saw  anything 
else  on  his  cast.  Another  friend  of  mine  in  answer 
to  the  same  question  might  be  depended  on  to  reply, 
"  A  red  tag."  And  a  few  years  ago  on  a  wet-fly 
stream  in  the  spring  I  met  an  angler  who  told  me 


104  TROUT  FISHING 

that  he  always  used  the  coachman.  I  think  he 
always  fished  it  dry  wherever  he  might  be.  And 
though  my  memory  of  that  visit  is  one  of  rather 
inclement  spring  weather,  when  one  would  have  said 
that  dry-fly  fishing  would  be  badly  handicapped, 
that  angler  certainly  used  to  bring  back  fish,  not 
many  perhaps,  but  good  ones.  I  fancy  he  gave 
himself  a  biggish  size-limit.  My  red  tag  friend 
is  similarly  a  devotee  of  the  dry-fly  method,  and  I 
know  that  he  has  done  quite  well  with  his  red  tag 
on  all  mountain  streams  as  well  as  in  the  chalk 
district,  and  likewise  with  coarse  fish,  for  which  he 
also  angles. 

At  one  fishing  inn  which  I  have  often  visited  a 
certain  angler  has  left  an  enduring  reputation 
behind  him.  I  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
him,  for  his  visits  had  ceased  shortly  before  mine 
began,  but  I  know  him  by  repute  as  well  as  any 
angler  in  history — so  often  have  his  name  and 
achievements  come  up  for  discussion  in  the  smoking- 
room  of  an  evening.  Never  did  any  visitor  at 
the  inn  ever  bring  back  such  distinguished  trout— 
indeed  I  am  not  sure  that  he  did  not  achieve  half- 
pound  averages,  which  is  a  thing  almost  incredible 
in  that  district — and,  his  chroniclers  will  always 
conclude,  "  he  never  fished  with  more  than  one  fly, 
a  very  big  cochybonddu."  Early  spring,  high 
summer,  or  cool  autumn,  it  was  apparently  the  same 


THE  FLY   QUESTION  105 

at  all  times,  a  very  big  cochybonddu,  and  baskets 
of  trout  with  which  no  one  else  might  vie.  Yet 
another  angler  once  told  me  that  he  always  fished 
with  a  single  pattern  everywhere,  a  plain  black 
hackle  with  silver  ribbing  down  the  body,  and  he 
seemed  quite  contented  with  the  results  of  this 
procedure. 

Probably  there  are  plenty  of  other  anglers  who 
have  reduced  their  perplexities  to  nil  by  a  similar 
resolute  policy.  I  remember  that  my  friend  Caradoc 
all  one  season  on  a  chalk  stream  which  we  fished 
together  seemed  to  use  nothing  but  what  he  called 
"  the  haystack  "  —it  was  a  bunchy  sort  of  hackle 
hare's  ear,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  but  I  took  a  dislike 
to  its  appearance  and  shape,  and  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  When  Tup's  indispensable  first 
dawned  on  the  dry-fly  world  a  good  many  men 
must  have  used  it  pretty  consistently  in  the  same 
way.  The  river  reports  were  for  a  long  time  full 
of  the  doings  of  this  excellent  fly.  And  there  are 
other  instances  of  the  same  kind  of  thing.  One 
very  famous  fishing  club  would  probably  be  willing 
to  pass  a  unanimous  vote  of  thanks  to  the  fly  which 
has  the  inspiring  name  of  "  the  extractor  " ;  though 
I  fancy  that  that  particular  pattern  has  since  had 
rivals  in  the  general  esteem,  it  is  still  good  for  a 
brace  most  days. 

Reflecting  on  such  examples  of  procedure  as  those 


106  TROUT  FISHING 

on  which  I  have  touched,  one  cannot  help  coming 
to  a  conclusion  that  one  ought  to  be  able  to  simplify 
one's  method  without  any  great  loss  to  one's  take 
of  fish.  If  different  men  are  able  to  go  contentedly 
on  with  single  patterns  so  diverse  in  character  as 
Wickham,  red  tag,  coachman,  and  silver-ribbed 
black  hackle,  the  implication  is  that,  take  them  by 
and  large,  trout  are  not  a  fastidious  race.  And  so 
the  ordinary  angler  need  not,  unless  he  chooses, 
embarrass  himself  with  a  confusing  mass  of  patterns 
which  many  of  them  have  but  small  points  of  differ- 
ence. Which  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  the  brief 
list  advocated  by  some  writers  is  sound  policy  after 
all. 

Looking  at  one's  own  customary  procedure  one 
is  on  the  whole  strengthened  in  this  belief.  The 
flies  which  I  use  most  are  as  follows  :  1,  olive ; 
2,  red  quill ;  3,  Wickham ;  4,  blue  upright ;  5,  hackle 
red  quill ;  6,  black  hackle ;  7,  half  stone ;  8,  orange 
quill;  9,  blue-winged  olive;  10,  March  brown; 
11,  orange  partridge;  12,  Greenwell;  13,  hare's 
ear ;  14,  cochybonddu ;  15,  blue  dun ;  16,  February 
red  or  early  brown.  Of  course  there  are  other  flies 
which  are  on  my  cast  occasionally,  and  I  would 
not  venture  to  say  that  at  some  future  date  the  list 
given  would  not  have  to  be  altered  or  modified. 
But  so  far  as  my  present  practice  is  concerned  these 
sixteen  patterns  are  the  flies  on  which  I  chiefly 


THE  FLY  QUESTION  107 

depend.  Nearly  all  of  them  serve  both  for  wet 
and  dry-fly  work,  with,  of  course,  the  necessary 
difference  in  build  in  the  case  of  the  winged  flies. 
And  nearly  all  of  them  are  applicable  for  either 
chalk  streams  or  mountain  rivers.  Some  of  them 
serve  equally  well  for  lake  fishing,  though  for  that 
I  would  add  a  few  purely  fancy  patterns  which 
I  should  not  think  necessary  for  river  work,  and 
also  one  or  two  imitations  of  the  gnats  and  midges 
which  are  important  on  still  waters. 

There  is,  to  my  mind,  no  hard  and  fast  line  between 
chalk  streams  and  other  waters  in  the  matter  of 
appropriate  flies,  and  a  pattern  considered  specially 
designed  for  one  district  may  do  equally  well  in 
the  other.     The  half  stone  and  the  blue  upright 
convinced  me  of  this.     Both  are  essentially  Devon- 
shire flies  by  tradition.     But  both  are  extremely 
valuable   for   chalk   stream   fishing.     The    pattern 
of  half  stone  which  I  use  is  as  a  matter  of  fact  a 
Welsh  dressing,  bigger  and  more  straggly  than  the 
Devonshire  variety,  but  it  is  practically  the  same 
fly  in  essentials.     It  is  not  particularly  like  anything 
you  find  on  a  chalk  stream,  but  the  fish  seem  to  take 
to  it  very  kindly  whether  fished  dry  or  wet  in  the 
minor  tactics  fashion.     It  must  be    an    excellent 
instance  of  the  typical  fly.     I  have  not  the  least 
doubt  that  many  of  the  essentially  wet-fly  patterns 
of  which  there  is  such  a  large  variety  would  give 


108  TROUT  FISHING 

surprising  results  if  introduced  to  the  Test  or  Itchen. 
Some  of  the  Yorkshire  patterns,  for  instance,  have 
every  attribute  that  ought  to  command  success. 
And  in  many  cases  the  skimpy  build  of  a  wet-fly 
seems  to  be  an  attraction.  If  it  has  no  wings  that 
does  not  prevent  its  floating.  Life  is  not  long 
enough  to  try  any  great  series  of  experiments  of 
this  kind,  but  so  far  as  I  have  experimented  I  am 
convinced  that  a  good  fly  will  kill  trout  anywhere. 
As  for  the  "  local  pattern  "  I  have  no  belief  in  it 
as  a  sort  of  talisman  for  a  particular  district.  Given 
a  good  set  of  typical  flies,  a  reasonable  measure  of 
skill  in  using  them,  and  a  knowledge  of  water  craft, 
an  angler  will  always  give  a  decent  account  of 
himself  anywhere.  The  undue  exaltation  of  local 
patterns  is  due  principally  to  the  skill  of  local 
anglers  who  know  every  yard  and  every  mood  of 
their  own  waters.  There  a  stranger  must  always 
be  handicapped,  and  blame  for  his  comparative  lack 
of  success  may  be  ascribed  to  his  flies  rather  than 
to  the  proper  cause. 

The  best  test  of  the  matter  would  be  to  take  away 
the  local  patterns  of  some  skilful  local  angler  and 
equip  him  with  a  set  of  flies  from  some  district  where 
a  different  convention  of  imitation  prevails  with  a 
similar  result  in  the  glorification  of  certain  dressings. 
Provided  that  he  was  not  so  conservative  as  to 
despair  of  new-fangled  ideas  at  the  outset,  I  would 


THE  FLY  QUESTION  109 

wager  on  his  doing  just  as  well  with  the  new  equip- 
ment as  with  the  old.  This,  of  course,  applies  to 
districts  in  which  conditions  of  water,  etc.,  are  more 
or  less  similar.  But  I  am  also  convinced  that  if  you 
took  a  really  skilful  wet-fly  man,  told  him  the  rudi- 
ments of  dry-fly  practice,  gave  him  a  tin  of  grease 
for  his  line,  and  set  him  loose  on  a  chalk  stream  with 
his  own  patterns,  he  would  quickly  find  himself  on 
excellent  terms  with  the  trout.  In  fact,  I  have 
seen  that  occur  more  than  once. 

I  have  dwelt  on  the  difficulty  of  systematising  one's 
selection  of  a  stock  of  flies  owring  to  the  way  in  which 
some  pattern  heretofore  little  esteemed  may  sud- 
denly justify  itself  by  a  marked  success.  For  all 
that,  however,  I  suppose  every  angler  has  his 
favourites,  and  I  certainly  have  mine,  the  result 
of  gradually  accumulated  experience.  On  the  whole, 
I  think,  my  tendency  is  to  reduce  rather  than  increase 
their  number ;  though  now  and  then  some  new  one 
may  be  added,  it  probably  replaces  an  old  one  or 
at  any  rate  detracts  from  its  importance  by  doing 
part  of  its  work.  Of  course  it  would  not  be  easy  to 
set  down  a  dozen  patterns  either  for  dry-fly  fishing 
or  for  mountain  streams  and  say  that  these  met 
every  possible  need.  They  would  not,  and  the 
heterogeneous  array  in  box  or  book  proves  that  they 
would  not.  One  carries  a  great  many  patterns 
which  one  seldom  uses  and  in  which  one  has  no  great 


110  TROUT  FISHING 

belief  for  ordinary  occasions.  But  one  recognises 
that  they  may  be  required  some  day,  and  possibly 
one  has  memories  of  days  on  which  they  were 
essential. 

Some  of  these  flies  are  possibly  only  needed  if 
one  is  on  the  water  at  a  certain  time  of  year.  The 
grannom,  for  instance,  is  a  creature  with  a  well- 
defined  season,  often  a  short  one.  Where  it  occurs 
you  generally  know  when  it  is  due  more  or  less.  So 
too  with  the  Mayfly  and  Welshman's  button  on  the 
south-country  streams,  and  such  a  fly  as  the  gravel- 
bed  on  some  of  the  mountain  rivers.  Other  flies, 
which  also  have  definite  seasons,  according  to  my 
experience  may  or  may  not  be  wanted.  Insects 
like  the  hawthorn  and  the  brown  ant  are  about  each 
year  at  their  special  times,  but  it  does  not  follow 
that  they  come  within  reach  of  the  trout.  If  they 
do  you  may  want  imitations  of  them  very  badly. 
I  have  once  or  twice  been  very  glad  of  having  a 
few  imitations  of  the  hawthorn  in  my  fly-book,  and 
have  owed  a  modest  basket  or  so  to  its  agency. 

But  the  most  noteworthy  instance  of  its  value 
that  I  ever  came  across  was  not  a  personal  experi- 
ence. This  was  on  the  Exe  in  May.  It  was  lovely 
weather,  the  water  was  rather  low,  and  the  half- 
dozen  rods  at  the  hotel  had  for  some  days  been  doing 
but  moderately.  I  myself  had  been  counting  my 


THE  FLY  QUESTION  111 

catches  by  the  brace,  a  fact  which  tells  its  own  tale, 
though  I  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  the  sport, 
as  the  fish  reached  a  very  good  size  for  the  Exe 
and  gave  great  fun  on  gossamer  tackle  and  tiny 
flies.  One  of  my  fellow-anglers  attracted  my  atten- 
tion. He  obviously  knew  all  about  it,  but  he  took 
things  very  easily,  did  not  seem  to  care  whether  he 
caught  anything  or  not,  pottered  about  a  good  deal, 
and  appeared  to  do  more  watching  than  fishing. 
Then  suddenly  one  day  he  addressed  himself  to  the 
business  seriously  and  returned  with  a  splendid 
basket  of  trout — over  two  dozen,  I  think,  and  of 
good  average  size.  He  confided  to  me  that  the 
hawthorn  was  the  fly,  and  added  that  he  had  been 
waiting  for  the  opportunity.  It  has  always  struck 
me  as  one  of  the  most  scientific  fishing  achievements 
I  ever  came  across — waiting  patiently  till  the  chance 
came,  and  then  using  it  to  such  good  purpose. 

I  have  never  had  the  luck  to  find  the  hawthorn 
causing  chalk  stream  trout  to  rise,  though  I  believe 
that  happens  sometimes.  Nor  have  I  ever  seen 
a  big  fall  of  ants  on  the  water,  though  I  have  occa- 
sionally found  the  ant  a  very  useful  fly  towards 
the  end  of  August  or  beginning  of  September  when 
the  insects  have  obviously  been  about.  The  alder, 
of  course,  has  served  me  very  well  in  its  season,  but 
for  a  long  time  I  must  have  given  to  it  credit  which 


112  TROUT   FISHING 

properly  belonged  to  the  Welshman's  button  or 
caperer.  I  am  not  sure  that  the  latter  name  is  not 
preferable  on  account  of  the  confusion  between  the 
Welshman's  button  of  Hampshire  and  that  of  Wales. 
Anyhow  I  had  no  knowledge  of  Sericostoma  persona- 
turn  till  Mr.  Halford's  new  patterns  opened  my  eyes. 
Since  then  for  chalk  stream  work  I  have  used  it 
far  more  than  the  alder,  principally  because  I  find 
it  easier  to  see.  It  is  not  necessarily  more  effective. 
More  than  once  when  I  have  been  killing  fish  with 
it  I  have  afterwards  found  that  another  angler 
close  by  has  been  doing  equally  well  with  an  alder 
of  the  same  shape. 

The  cowdung  fly  is  one  for  which  I  have  an  affec- 
tion, though  I  have  used  it  but  little  of  late  years. 
I  have  memories  of  cold  blustering  days  in  early 
spring  when  these  brown-coated  creatures  of  dubious 
habit  were  about  the  only  sign  of  insect  life.  A 
certain  number  get  blown  into  the  water,  and  so  on 
such  days  the  pattern  is  certainly  useful.  It  has 
given  me  a  good  many  trout  in  the  past,  and  so  I 
generally  have  a  few  in  my  book  in  the  present. 
The  zulu  is  another  fly  of  which  I  always  carry  a  few 
examples  both  for  wet  and  dry-fly  fishing,  though 
I  do  not  often  use  it  now.  But  I  have  once  or  twice 
found  it  very  valuable  as  a  wet-fly  when  the  water 
has  been  rather  thick,  and,  as  for  dry-fly  work,  I 


THE  FLY  QUESTION  113 

always  remember  that  a  friend  of  mine  got  a  fish 
of  well  over  four  pounds  with  it  on  one  occasion. 

Setting  aside  the  comparatively  few  anglers  whose 
practice  is  really  scientific  and  who  have  and  use 
a  wide  knowledge  of  fisherman's  entomology,  I 
suppose  most  of  us  are  more  or  less  guided  by  the 
rough  general  principle  of  wishing  to  use  something 
more  or  less  like  what  the  fish  happen  to  be  taking 
at  the  time.  And  I  suppose  that  I  am  not  alone 
in  believing  that  on  a  good  many  occasions  what  one 
may  call  a  "  typical  "  fly  is  good  enough.  Suppos- 
ing, for  instance,  that  there  are  lightish  olives  on 
the  water,  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  the  trout 
were  equally  ready  to  take  a  light  olive  quill,  a 
ginger  quill,  a  hare's  ear,  a  light-blue  quill,  or  perhaps 
some  other  variety  of  cock-winged  dun,  supposing 
all  the  patterns  to  be  of  the  same  size  and  shape. 
Any  one  of  these  patterns  presumably  gives  the 
fish  a  representation  of  the  natural  fly  good  enough 
for  their  needs.  At  one  time  I  pinned  my  faith 
to  the  ginger  quill  as  the  typical  pattern  and  had  no 
cause  for  dissatisfaction.  Then  Mr.  Halford  brought 
out  his  new  patterns,  his  medium  olive  took  my 
fancy,  and  since  I  have  hardly  used  the  ginger  quill 
at  all.  I  must  confess  that  I  have  never  found  any 
difference  in  the  killing  power  of  the  two  sexes,  but 
I  have  used  the  female  most  as  it  has  a  slightly  more 


114  TROUT  FISHING 

toothsome   appearance — a   thoroughly  unscientific 
reason  ! 

As  a  general  rule  I  am  not  much  impressed  by  any 
tendency  in  trout  to  be  over  particular  as  to  shades 
of  colour.  The  ginger  quill  and  Halford's  female 
olive  are  not  a  bit  alike  in  colour,  but  the  latter 
seems  to  me  to  do  the  work  which  used  to  be  done 
by  the  former.  And  I  think  a  light  hare's  ear  would 
probably  serve  me  just  as  well.  But — and  this 
prevents  me  being  a  hearty  sceptic  as  to  the  colour 
question — I  certainly  sometimes  find  the  fish  inclined 
to  pick  and  choose.  Especially  is  this  the  case  in 
the  evening  when  the  blue-winged  olive  is  on. 
Several  times  I  have  proved  that  the  trout  would 
take  Halford's  blue-winged  olive,  the  female,  when 
they  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  other  pattern 
I  offered  them.  And  I  presume  that  the  colour 
has  been  responsible  for  this,  though  it  is  marvellous 
that  subtle  distinctions,  as  between  that  fly  and  an 
ordinary  dark  blue  quill  or  blue  dun,  should  be 
perceptible  to  them  in  the  dusk.  But,  to  show 
how  one's  mind  wobbles  in  these  matters,  I  had 
just  made  it  up  to  the  effect  that  Halford's  female 
blue-winged  olive  was  the  fly,  when,  as  previously 
recorded,  Mr.  Skues  introduced  me  to  the  orange 
quill  on  quite  a  big  hook — No.  2,  I  think.  This  fly 
immediately  ousted  the  other  in  my  affections, 


THE  FLY  QUESTION  115 

for  it  seemed  a  sure  killer,  and  its  size  of  hook  was 
a  great  advantage  for  evening  work  when  you  want 
to  hold  fish  rather  hard  and  get  them  out  quickly. 
And  now — at  any  rate,  for  the  time  being — I  have 
lost  faith  in  both  blue-winged  olive  and  orange 
quill !  Neither  kills  fish  for  me  any  more.  But 
I  have  said  all  that  I  need  say  as  to  the  uncertainties 
of  the  evening  rise  and  the  selection  of  patterns 
for  it. 

For  a  good  many  years  now  I  have  depended  to 
a  large  extent  for  dry-fly  fishing,  and  to  some  extent 
for  wet-fly  work,  on  a  simple  series  of  hackle  flies, 
blue,  red,  ginger,  and  black,  three  of  them  with 
quill  bodies,  and  the  fourth  with  silk  body,  all 
rather  sparsely  hackled,  and  somewhat  varied  in 
shade.  The  blue,  for  instance,  may  be  dark,  medium, 
or  light,  and  the  red  may  be  dark  or  light,  and  may 
or  may  not  have  a  couple  of  turns  of  gold  tinsel 
as  a  tag.  The  black  must  have  jet-black  hackle. 
The  value  of  this  series,  which  practically  consists 
of  wingless  blue,  red  and  ginger  quills,  and  black 
gnat,  is  most  apparent  in  hot  bright  weather,  and 
smaller  sizes  are  usually  more  successful  than  larger. 
The  blue  fly  on  a  00  hook  l  is  particularly  good  in 

1  With  a  view  to  getting  more  holding  power  in  these  small 
flies  I  adopted  the  plan  of  short-shanked  hooks.  The  result  of 
this  is  that  with  a  00  length  of  body  you  get  a  0  gape  of  hook. 
Mr.  Forrest,  of  Forrest  &  Sons,  Thomas  Street,  Oxford  Street,  W., 
kindly  interested  himself  in  the  matter,  and  got  some  hooks 


116  TROUT  FISHING 

the  evening  rise,  especially  if  rising  fish  are  few  and 
far  between.     The  black  one  is  excellent  for  smutting 
trout;     indeed,   all  four  have  their  uses   in  that 
emergency.     I  suppose  that  the  success  of  the  series 
simply  depends  on  the  fact  that  each  fly  is  sufficiently 
typical  of  some  series  of  insects,  diptera  as  well  as 
duns,  on  which  trout  feed.     Oddly  enough,  though 
I  have  carefully  tried  a  hackle  olive  of  the  same  type 
I  have  never  done  any  good  with  it  worth  mention- 
ing.    But   Mr.   Rolfs   "  Sylph,"   a   little   grayling 
fly  with  a  green  silk  body,  has  sometimes  been  very 
useful,  and  ought  perhaps  to  be  added  to  the  series. 
At  one  time  I  found  myself  hoping  that  this 
hackle  series   would  render  floating  winged   duns 
unnecessary,    but    I   have    now   relinquished    that 
hope.     Winged  patterns  seem  emphatically  better 
in  certain  circumstances,  as  when  fish  are  rising 
freely  at  a  good  hatch  of  olives.     Also,  on  some  very 
shy  day,  when  I  expect  the  hackle  series  to  do  best, 
I  occasionally  find  that  the  old-fashioned  winged 
red  quill  beats  them  all.     I  also  had  great  hopes  of 
Mr.  Halford's  beautiful  spinners  when  I  first  made 
their  acquaintance.     These  dainty  creations  seemed 
likely  to  do  all  that  could  be  required  of  a  series 
of  "  typical  "  flies.     But  only  one  of  them  has  really 

specially  made.  They  are  round-bend,  very  light  in  the  wire 
and  you  must  not  treat  them  too  roughly,  but  for  delicate  work 
and  shy  fish  I  have  found  them  admirable. 


THE  FLY   QUESTION  117 

done  much  for  me,  the  olive  (red)  spinner.  I  have 
found  that  invaluable  on  many  occasions,  but  I 
have  been  able  to  do  very  little  with  any  of  the 
others,  and  the  old  range  of  simple  hackles  still 
holds  its  own. 

In  giving  my  impressions  on  the  subject  of  flies 
I  am  acutely  conscious  that  they  are  only  of  value 
as  showing  what  happens  to  one  angler  of  unscientific 
mind.  Many  of  the  flies  which  I  find  unsuccessful, 
or,  more  probably,  have  never  sufficiently  tried, 
are  greatly  valued  by  others.  When  I  look  into 
such  a  volume  as  Mr.  Leonard  West's  The  Natural 
Trout  Fly  and  its  Imitation  I  see  a  great  variety  of 
patterns  which  are  obviously  good  killers  and  which 
have  never  come  within  my  scheme  at  all.  And 
then  there  are  the  new  doctrines  of  "  impression- 
ism "  in  fly-dressing,  set  forth  by  Dr.  Mottram 
and  others,  the  chase  of  the  silhouette,  the  fashion- 
ing of  shaped  bodies,  the  use  of  hackles  fore  and 
aft,  and  so  on.  Both  for  wet  flies  (nymphs)  and 
dry  flies  I  believe  the  new  conventions  are  more 
likely  to  achieve  accuracy  in  imitation  from  the 
trout's  point  of  view  than  did  most  of  the  old  ones 
Dr.  Francis  Ward's  optical  experiments  taught  us 
many  things,  but  I  confess  that  so  far  I  have 
not  found  in  practical  fishing  any  absolute  necessity 
to  renounce  the  old  in  favour  of  the  new. 


118  TROUT  FISHING 

The  fact  is  that  one  man  can  only  get  to  know  and 
fish  with  a  certain  number  of  flies  unless  he  combines 
the  longevity  of  Methuselah  with  the  single-minded- 
ness  of  Stoddart.  And  so  the  confession  of  such 
crude  practices  as  mine  must  be  woefully  inadequate 
as  a  contribution  to  the  fly  question. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SOME   CONTROVERSIES 

IT  is  one  of  the  proofs  of  the  strong  hold  which 
trout  fishing  has  on  their  affections  that  its  devotees 
are  at  any  moment  ready  to  engage  in  prolonged 
argument  about  its  various  methods  and  devices. 
I  suppose  all  of  us  have  at  some  time  or  other  upheld 
with  vigour  a  point  of  view  which  has  not  com- 
mended itself  to  our  very  good  friend  and  neighbour, 
and  consequently  been  let  in  for  that  battle  of 
irrelevancies  which  commonly  constitutes  the  human 
disputation.  The  worst  of  argument  is  that  people 
get  led  on  by  sheer  lust  of  battle,  and  in  the  hope  of 
scoring  some  minor  point  are  betrayed  into  saying 
something  which  is  in  excess  of  their  real  opinion. 
That  said,  they  are  then  under  the  regrettable  neces- 
sity of  sticking  to  it,  have  to  find  further  support 
for  it  in  contentions  which  are  purely  advanced  for 
that  purpose,  and  so  end  up  in  a  thoroughly  false 
position,  ruefully  conscious  of  the  fact  that  they 
are  now  committed  to  a  confession  of  faith  which  by 
no  means  coincides  with  their  inner  belief. 

Probably  that  fine  old  battle-cry  "  upstream  or 

119 


120  TROUT  FISHING 

down  "  has  put  more  anglers  into  this  quandary 
than  any  other.  I  have  more  than  once  been  present 
at,  even  engaged  in,  arguments  which  have  had 
some  such  conclusions  as  that,  on  the  one  hand, 
nobody  but  an  imbecile  or  a  novice  would  dream 
of  fishing  downstream,  and  A.  may  please  himself 
as  to  which  class  he  belongs  to ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  anybody  ever  makes  a  decent  basket  by 
fishing  upstream,  B.  would  be  very  glad  to  see  it, 
that's  all,  and  meanwhile  he  will  be  happy  to  wager 
any  sum  A.  likes  to  name  that  his  friend  X.  would 
fish  against  him  on  any  day  and  any  water  and  give 
him  at  least  twelve  tails  and  a  beating. 

The  clear-water  worm  is  another  fruitful  cause 
of  discord.  Start  a  discussion  upon  it  and  you  will 
probably  go  away  halting  between  the  two  opinions 
— (1)  that  the  clear- water  wormer  is  on  the  whole 
the  highest  type  of  angling  man,  situate  on  a  finer 
eminence  even  than  the  dry-fly  purist ;  (2)  that  he 
is  a  gloomy  survival  of  the  troglodytes,  whose 
motto  was  "  Slay  and  spare  not,"  and  that  he  ought 
to  be  swept  away  by  the  broom  of  civilisation. 

Then,  when  the  light  and  heavy  rod  controversy 
raged  a  dozen  years  or  so  ago,  I  sometimes  had  a 
fear  that  it  might  at  last  develop  into  an  argu- 
mentum  ad  hominem  baculumque,  in  which  case  the 
heavy-rod  man  would  have  an  obvious  advantage 
not  altogether  justified  by  the  nature  of  the  dispute, 


SOME   CONTROVERSIES  121 

for  a  fishing-rod  is,  after  all,  intended  for  fishing 
rather  than  discussion  of  the  more  violent  kind. 
But  of  course  almost  any  fishing  controversy  may 
end  in  a  similar  way  if  the  disputants  are  by  nature 
rather  fierce.  And  something  depends  on  the  way 
in  which  the  question  is  raised.  When,  for  example, 
the  fly-only  salmon  man  says  to  the  prawn-cum- 
minnow  salmon  man,  "  Sir,  your  methods  are 
damnable,  and  I  have  a  great  distaste  for  your 
personality,  so  now  let  us  discuss  the  question  of 
'  fly  versus  bait '  —when  he  begins  in  this  way  it  is 
not  surprising  that  the  two  fail  to  arrive  at  any 
sympathetic  understanding  of  each  other.  And 
I  do  not  suppose  it  is  any  more  probable  that  they 
will  do  so  if  the  discussion  is  invited  by  the  other 
with  some  such  words  as,  "  Blank  again  ?  Well, 
if  you  will  be  such  a  benighted  ass  as  to  stick  to 
your  mouldy  flies  in  water  like  this  .  .  ."etc. 

Whether  started  thus  provocatively  or  more 
mildly,  as  with,  "  My  dear  fellow,  I  should  immensely 
value  your  opinion  on  a  point,"  these  discussions 
are  always  very  interesting  both  to  participants  and 
onlookers.  For  everybody  has,  or  has  had,  decided 
views  on  the  main  controversies  which  rage  at 
different  periods.  But  there  comes  a  time  with 
regard  to  most  of  them  when  the  blessed  word 
compromise  seems  a  useful  addition  to  the  other 
words  which  fly  about.  As  one's  fishing  experience 


122  TROUT  FISHING 

grows  so  does  it  seem  more  likely  that  both  parties 
to  a  dispute  have  a  good  deal  of  justification  for 
their  opinion,  and  that  the  discreet  third  party 
by  keeping  his  ears  open  and  his  mouth  shut  may 
learn  not  a  little  that  will  be  to  his  advantage.  It 
is  perhaps  indicative  of  a  grovelling  spirit  not  to 
plunge  into  any  fray  that  is  going  on,  but  it  keeps 
a  man  out  of  difficult  situations,  and  enables  him 
to  turn  a  calculating  eye  on  the  profits  of  the  affair. 
Take,  for  instance,  that  "  upstream  or  down " 
question.  Suppose  you  have  a  skilled  exponent 
of  either  method  arguing  on  each  side.  By  listening 
quietly  to  their  respective  statements  you  will 
probably  pick  up  a  good  many  wrinkles  as  to  the 
conditions  in  which  the  two  methods  do  best,  and 
also  as  to  the  ways  in  which  each  man  makes  his 
own  method  effective.  There  was  a  time — I  will 
admit  it — when  I  was  one  of  the  upstream  disciples, 
and  so  convinced  that  if  I  saw  a  man  fishing  down- 
stream I  immediately  set  him  down  in  my  own 
mind  as  evidently  a  poor  performer.  But  that  was 
a  long  time  ago,  and  since  then  I  have  angled  in 
many  waters,  talked  with  and  watched  many  anglers, 
and  entirely  lost  my  old  attitude  towards  the  down- 
stream plan.  At  the  same  time,  I  have  not  lost 
my  affection  for  upstream  work,  so  I  consider 
myself  greatly  the  gainer.  If  one  method  does  not 
succeed,  to  have  an  alternative  method  which  may 


SOME  CONTROVERSIES 


123 


do  better  is  decidedly  a  good  thing.  In  the  old 
days,  if  circumstances  made  upstream  fishing 
impossible,  it  was  a  very  half-hearted  effort  that 
I  made  in  the  other  direction.  Now  I  should  be 
just  as  hopeful  whichever  way  I  was  casting. 

Of  course  there  are  different  methods  of  fishing 
downstream.  You  can,  if  you  please,  cause  your 
flies  to  behave  very  much  as  if  you  were  fishing 
in  the  other  way.  By  casting  across  with  a  little 
slack  to  your  line  you  can  cause  them  to  float  down 
unimpeded  for  a  few  yards.  I  fancy  this  method, 
which  is  well  suited  to  big  rivers  and  deep  or  difficult 
wading,  is  the  one  that  the  crack  downstream  men 
mostly  employ.  In  principle  there  is  little  to 
distinguish  it  from  the  across-and-up  plan.  But 
there  are  other  ways  of  getting  fish.  You  can  work 
your  droppers  on  the  top,  which  is  a  pretty  and 
sometimes  a  successful  art,  you  can  let  your  flies 
drag  round  in  the  stream,  which  rises  fish  well 
enough,  though  they  do  not  always  get  hooked  so 
surely  as  might  be  wished.  You  can  cast  your 
flies  at  an  angle  of  forty-five,  as  in  salmon  fishing, 
and  work  them  with  movements  of  the  rod-top. 
You  can — if  you  come  to  a  tunnel  of  bushes,  a  wide 
bridge,  or  some  similar  otherwise  inaccessible  place — 
let  a  lot  of  line  out  on  the  stream  and  simply  wind 
it  back  again,  a  plan  which  is  often  good  for  a  trout 
or  two. 


124  TROUT  FISHING 

In  fact,  when  one  comes  to  consider  all  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  downstream  method,  it  is  clear  that 
deliberate  rejection  of  it  would  be  to  inflict  a  volun- 
tary handicap  on  one's  efficiency.  There  are  occa- 
sions on  which  it  is  not  only  just  as  good  as,  but 
even  better  than,  the  upstream  plan.  One  of  these 
occasions  which  has  impressed  me  forcibly  of  late 
years  is  the  period  when  trout  are  not  definitely 
taking.  If  you  have  been  fishing  up  for  some  time 
without  stirring  a  fin,  it  is  always  worth  while  to 
turn  round  and  fish  down.  Cast  your  flies  under 
the  bushes  or  bank  and  work  them  out  and  across- 
stream  with  short  draws  of  the  rod-top,  and  it  will 
be  odd  if  you  do  not  get  a  rise  or  two,  and  very 
likely  in  the  same  spots  where  the  upstream  method 
scored  nothing.  The  movement  of  a  fly  fished  in 
this  manner  may  be  unnatural,  as  some  maintain, 
but  it  certainly  has  an  effect  on  the  trout,  arousing 
curiosity  at  least,  if  nothing  else.  I  do  not  know 
if  wet-fly  men  at  all  commonly  work  their  flies  in 
this  way — I  rather  think  not — but  the  plan  is  well 
worth  a  trial  by  any  one  to  whom  it  is  new.  I 
have  owed  to  it  many  a  brace  of  trout  before  the 
take  has  come  on  or  after  it  has  ended,  which  I 
am  sure  I  should  not  have  had  if  I  had  gone  on 
plodding  upstream. 

One  of  the  principal  arguments  of  the  supporters 
of  the  upstream  method,  as  against  the  other, 


SOME   CONTROVERSIES  125 

is  that  as  trout  lie  with  their  heads  to  the  current 
the  angler  is  less  visible  to  them  when  he  comes  up 
behind  them.  It  is  the  sort  of  obvious  benefit  which 
I  should  never  have  dreamed  of  questioning  but 
for  an  experience  on  a  small  mountain  river  during 
a  period  of  dead  low  water  and  great  heat  one  August. 
The  stream  was  so  fine  and  so  clear  that  I  found 
it  impossible  to  cover  the  tails  of  the  little  pools  even 
by  the  most  cautious  approach.  Do  what  I  would 
I  could  not  get  a  fly  to  them  without  starting  a 
sauve  qui  pent  among  the  trout  lying  in  the  shallow 
water.  They  ran  up  into  the  pools,  of  course,  and 
spread  the  alarm  everywhere,  so  that,  except  for  a 
chance  with  dry  fly  in  certain  places,  it  seemed 
hopeless  to  fish  before  dusk.  But  one  day  I  tried 
fishing  downstream,  to  see  if  it  would  be  possible 
to  get  anything  out  of  the  stickles  at  the  heads  of 
the  pools.  And  to  my  surprise  I  found  that  the 
fish  were  very  much  more  approachable  in  this  way. 
Indeed,  at  last  I  succeeded  in  killing  some,  though 
not  many,  and  had  to  revise  my  ideas  as  to  the 
invariable  superiority  of  the  upstream  method  on 
the  score  of  visibility  to  the  fish. 

I  have  previously  related  an  experience  on  the 
Kennet  which  also  cast  doubts  on  the  visibility 
axiom.  In  that  case  I  should  have  said  that  fishing 
downstream  I  must  be  a  much  more  visible  object 
than  when  fishing  up.  But  the  trout  did  not  behave 


126  TROUT  FISHING 

as  if  this  was  the  case.  They  fled  when  I  was  behind 
them,  and  they  rose  when  I  was  in  front  of  them, 
and  I  can  only  conclude  that  they  saw  me  in  the 
one  position  and  not  in  the  other.  There  is  an 
interesting  diagram  in  one  of  Mr.  F.  G.  Shaw's  books 
which  shows  the  presumable  field  of  vision  of  a  fish's 
eye,  and  from  it  one  may  deduce  that  a  trout  can 
see  much  further  behind  him  than  would  generally 
be  supposed. 

There  is  no  up  or  down  controversy  among  dry- 
fly  men,  of  course.  Downstream  fishing  is  a  well- 
approved  branch  of  the  sport,  and  it  is  only  because 
drifting  is  a  difficult  art,  and  because  it  does  not 
give  much  chance  of  a  second  cast  at  a  fish,  that 
it  is  not  more  generally  employed.  There  are  waters 
on  which  it  scores  heavily,  especially  in  Mayfly 
time  after  the  trout  have  been  hammered  very  hard 
by  many  rods.  Then  they  become  extremely  wary 
and  suspicious  of  objects  which  are  connected  with 
some  remote  danger  by  a  string.  Offer  them  a  fly, 
however,  which  floats  down  to  them  with  its  string 
tucked  away  behind  it,  and  they  may  be  more  inclined 
to  take  it. 

The  question  of  the  best  kind  of  rod  is  another 
of  those  things  which  have  led  to  controversy,  but  I 
think  the  debates  have  been  more  profitable  than 
some  of  those  on  other  matters,  because  they  have 
undoubtedly  led  to  definite  results  in  the  develop- 


SOME  CONTROVERSIES  127 

ment  of  the  most  important  item  in  the  trout 
fisher's  equipment.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  "  light 
v.  heavy"  war  of  pens,  which  I  have  before  mentioned, 
I  am  pretty  sure  that  I  for  one  should  not  fish  with 
half  the  comfort  and  pleasure  that  I  get  out  of 
the  sport  to-day. 

The  old  trout-rod  was  a  heavy  affair  because  it 
could  not  be  otherwise.  The  convention  of  a  gradual 
taper  from  a  fat  butt  to  a  very  fine  point  necessitated 
a  liberal  use  of  timber,  and  of  course  timber  means 
weight.  As  we  realise  now,  a  great  deal  of  this 
weight  was  quite  unnecessary,  since  you  can  get 
a  better  action  for  ordinary  fly-fishing  purposes  with 
much  less  taper  and  therefore  much  less  timber. 
The  typical  old  fly-rod  had  its  action  mostly  in  the 
top-half,  and  that  of  course  is  no  sort  of  action  for 
such  a  purpose  as  getting  out  a  heavy  dry-fly  line 
against  the  wind. 

The  directions  for  casting  a  fly  found  in  many 
of  the  older  books  of  instruction  suggest  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  novice  who  seeks  to  get  his  line  out 
by  making  his  rod,  his  arm,  and  himself  into  one 
rigid  implement  which  moves  slowly  and  gingerly 
backwards  and  forwards.  He  hopes,  probably, 
that  the  wind,  or  providence,  will  see  to  the  progress 
of  the  line  in  the  right  direction.  I  have  often 
thought  it  a  touching  instance  of  the  vanity  of  human 
wishes  when  I  have  seen  the  ardent  beginner  leaning 


128  TROUT  FISHING 

out  over  the  water  as  far  as  he,  and  his  arm,  and  his 
rod  will  go  in  the  hope  that  thus  he  will  achieve  the 
further  bank. 

There  is  a  line  in  Virgil  descriptive  of  this  situa- 
tion :  "  Tendebantque  manus  ripae  ulterioris  amore." 
Many  is  the  disquisition  I  have  heard  in  the  Sixth 
in  ancient  days  on  the  poignancy  of  this  simple 
tribute  to  the  unattainable.  But  I  think  I  never 
fully  realised  it  till  I  had  studied  a  few  fly-fishing 
novices.  The  yearning  countenance,  the  out- 
stretched appealing  hand  (two  hands  sometimes), 
the  futile  dejected  rod,  and  the  miserable  line  cutting 
an  eight,  a  three,  a  question  mark,  and  a  spread 
eagle  on  the  surface  of  the  water  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  hither  bank — it  is  intensely  Virgilian.  It 
is  the  "  alight  like  thistledown  "  nonsense  which 
undoes  the  modern  novice  of  course.  He  has  heard 
that  phrase  from  his  youth  up.  He  has  gone  into 
the  meadows  and  studied  thistledown  floating 
gently  on  the  breeze.  And  he  has  sought  to  make 
his  artificial  fly  do  the  like,  until  it  has  dawned  on 
him  after  much  discouragement  that  a  fly-rod  is 
capable  of  doing  some  work,  after  which  he  gets  on 
better. 

The  old  rods  would,  of  course,  do  some  work,  but 
not  the  kind  of  work  one  wants  of  a  rod  in  many 
circumstances  now.  You  cannot  use  a  heavy  line 
with  a  rod  which  does  not  play  well  down.  The 


SOME  CONTROVERSIES  129 

strain  on  the  top  part  is  much  too  severe.  The 
lines  such  rods  were  accustomed  to  were  light,  made 
of  horsehair,  or  horsehair  and  silk,  and  propelling 
them  was  no  great  strain.  Presumably  their  owners 
never  attempted  to  fish  against  a  strong  wind,  and 
if  they  wanted  to  make  longer  casts  they  used  longer 
rods.  That  must  be  the  explanation  of  the  twenty- 
two-foot  salmon-rods  of  which  heroic  tales  are  told. 
No  one  would  fish  with  a  twenty-two -foot  rod  out 
of  sheer  gaiety  of  heart,  though  possibly  the  actual 
labour  of  using  it  with  a  light  line  would  be  no 
greater  than  the  labour  of  using  a  modern  eighteen- 
foot  rod  with  a  heavy  line.  The  common  use  of 
trout-rods  measuring  thirteen  or  fourteen  feet 
was  probably  due  to  a  similar  need  which  exists 
no  longer.  Now  that  a  ten-foot  rod  will  cast  twenty 
yards  with  ease  and  comfort,  there  is  no  reason 
to  be  bothered  with  a  weapon  which  requires  two 
hands. 

Not  that  the  old-fashioned  two-handed  rod  is 
without  its  uses  still.  To  my  mind  it  is  the  best 
possible  weapon  for  lake  fishing  where  you  want  to 
have  a  good  reach,  and  to  use  fine  gut.  A  two- 
handed  rod  seems  to  me  better  in  boat  fishing  than 
a  short  rod,  but  if  it  is  built  on  the  modern  lines 
it  is  apt  to  be  too  powerful  for  fine  gut  and  small 
flies.  In  this  respect  the  old  light-topped  rod  is 
much  more  suitable.  At  different  times  I  have 


130  TROUT  FISHING 

purchased  two  modern  split  canes,  fourteen  feet 
and  thirteen  feet,  primarily  with  an  eye  to  lake 
fishing,  and  both  have  been  failures  for  that.  But 
both  have  proved  fine  little  salmon-rods. 

The  fact  is  that  with  the  new  system  of  rod- 
building  you  can  get  too  much  power,  and  the  old 
system  still  has  its  points  of  superiority  for  some 
kinds  of  fishing.  A  really  good  fourteen-foot  trout- 
rod  of  the  old  type  is  a  treasure.  For  lake  work 
and  also  for  sea  trout  in  some  places  it  cannot  be 
beaten.  The  same  thing  applies  to  salmon-rods 
also,  of  course.  That  is  digressive  in  this  considera- 
tion, but  I  may  perhaps  mention  the  case  in  which 
you  have  to  fish  a  big  river  when  it  is  low.  You 
want  a  good  reach  of  rod,  but  at  the  same  time  you 
must  use  a  light  line  and  fine  gut.  An  old-fashioned 
eighteen-foot  rod  seems  to  meet  the  case  better  than 
anything  else,  for  a  modern  fourteen-foot  rod,  though 
it  would  cast  the  distance  all  right  and  would  not 
be  too  hard  on  the  gut,  would  not  hang  the  fly  well 
enough.  The  same  sort  of  thing  has  to  be  considered 
in  trout  fishing  at  times. 

Generally,  however,  I  am  heartily  in  accord  with 
the  modern  idea  of  what  a  rod  should  be  and  with 
the  tendency  to  reduce  all  necessary  weight.  I 
often  discussed  this  question  with  the  late  Mr. 
Halford,  who  was  by  no  means  disposed  to  welcome 
the  new  light-rod  ideas  with  enthusiasm.  He  used 


SOME  CONTROVERSIES  131 

to  point  out  truly  enough  that  a  well-built  dry-fly 
rod  of  the  type  favoured  by  him  did  not  feel  heavy  in 
the  hand,  because  though  it  might  actually  weigh 
several  ounces  more  than  a  modern  light  rod,  a 
good  deal  of  that  weight  was  in  the  handle  and  so 
served  to  bring  about  a  nice  balance.  However, 
I  always  thought  it  a  notable  sign  of  the  times  that 
Mr.  Halford  himself  capitulated  to  the  new  move- 
ment to  some  extent.  His  later  patterns  of  rod 
were  much  lighter  than  the  earlier.  I  doubt  if 
he  would  ever  have  come  down  to  the  half-ounce- 
to-the-foot  standard  though.  He  liked  a  rod  which 
was  obviously  powerful  and  which  by  its  solidity 
of  build  gave  him  a  feeling  of  mastery  however 
hard  the  wind  might  blow.  The  dubious  eye  which 
he  would  cast  on  the  kind  of  rod  I  generally  fish 
with  showed  that  he  would  have  small  confidence 
in  it  for  rough  work. 

Personally  I  am,  I  suppose,  what  is  called  a 
light-rod  man,  and  I  simply  would  not  fish  with  one 
of  the  old  dry-fly  rods  if  I  could  get  anything  else. 
But  it  is  not  the  question  of  weight  that  seems  to  me 
most  important.  The  quality  I  find  in  the  light 
rods  which  seems  most  valuable  is  delicacy.  For 
putting  a  fly  to  the  proper  place,  for  hooking  a  fish 
without  fear  of  mishap,  for  playing  it  with  judgment 
and  a  proper  sense  of  what  strain  you  have  got  on, 
a  sensitive  rod  is  a  great  advantage.  The  bulkier 


132  TROUT  FISHING 

and  heavier  your  rod  the  less  can  you  appreciate 
the  subtleties  of  fly  fishing.  That,  at  any  rate, 
is  how  it  seems  to  me.  The  modern  light  rod  of 
ten  feet  which  weighs,  say,  six  ounces,  is  to  my  mind 
vastly  superior  in  this  respect  to  the  old  rod  which 
weighed  twelve  ounces  or  more.  I  do  not  say 
definitely  that  it  will  stand  so  much  hard  work  or 
that  it  will  throw  so  good  a  line  against  a  wind, 
but  I  do  say  that  it  will  enable  a  man  to  catch  more 
fish,  simply  because  with  it  he  is  on  more  intimate 
terms  with  his  fly.  With  such  a  rod  I  use  a  slightly 
lighter  line  than  I  should  with  a  heavier  rod,  and 
that  of  course  is  a  help  to  delicate  fishing. 

I  think  the  evolution  of  this  kind  of  rod  is  one 
of  the  chief  triumphs  of  tackle-making,  and  we 
certainly  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  America  for 
stimulating  our  first  interest  in  it.  The  slender 
split-cane  rod,  weighing  little  more  than  half  an 
ounce  to  the  foot,  with  a  resiliency  like  steel  and 
with  what  seemed  almost  miraculous  power  of 
casting,  was  a  revelation  to  some  of  us  at  one  time. 
But  it  has  proved  that  there  is  no  miracle  about  it, 
and  our  own  makers  now  turn  out  light  rods  which 
answer  every  requirement  of  the  angler's  ideal. 
For  all  that  we  owe  the  impulse  to  America.  So 
long  ago  as  1873,  when  W.  C.  Prime  wrote  I  Go  A- 
Fishing,  our  cousins  were  using  seven-ounce  rods. 
Twelve  years  later  Francis  Francis,  in  A  Book  on 


SOME  CONTROVERSIES  133 

Angling  (sixth  edition),  was  weighing  the  merits 
of  four  of  his  rods,  which  varied  in  length  from 
eleven  feet  seven  inches  to  twelve  feet  eight  inches, 
and  in  weight  from  thirteen  ounces  four  drams  to 
fourteen  ounces  six  drams.  Not,  of  course,  that 
light  rods  were  unknown  here  till  the  American 
type  was  discovered.  I  have  a  little  greenheart 
of  nine  feet  six  inches  which  is  essentially  a  light 
rod  and  is  perhaps  forty  years  old.  But  it  is  not 
split  cane. 

While  the  general  topic  of  fishing  controversies 
is  in  mind,  there  is  one  which  cannot  well  be  dis- 
missed as  of  small  account,  and  that  is  the  debate 
which  arose  a  few  years  ago  over  the  question 
of  reintroducing  the  wet  fly  to  the  chalk  streams, 
which  had  become  more  or  less  consecrated  to  the 
dry  fly.  The  debate  is,  indeed,  scarcely  concluded 
yet,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  there  are  still  plenty 
of  dry-fly  men  who  would  bend  a  severe  eye  upon 
the  minor  tactician,  as  Mr.  Skues's  classic  book 
leads  one  to  call  him.  As  I  have  frankly  been  a 
minor  tactician  myself  ever  since  I  read  an  article 
in  the  Field  entitled  "  The  Wet-fly  Oil  Tip,"and  even 
before  that  used  to  fumble  after  chalk  stream  trout 
according  to  my  poor  lights  with  wet  flies  if  it 
seemed  necessary,  I  suppose  my  consideration  of 
the  subject  must  be  set  down  as  a  piece  of  special 
pleading.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  we  have  a  strong 


134  TROUT  FISHING 

enough  case  for  me  to  go  forward  in  confidence 
none  the  less. 

The  arguments  against  minor  tactics  are  mainly 
two,  one  that  the  method  is  of  very  little  service, 
the  other  that  even  if  it  be  of  service  it  offends 
against  the  proprieties.  The  first  argument  seems 
to  me  unsound  and  the  second  absurd.  To  deal 
with  them  in  turn  :  My  own  small  experience  has 
proved  to  me  conclusively  that  you  can  catch  chalk 
stream  trout  with  a  wet  fly  carefully  delivered  up 
or  across  stream,  and  that  the  capture  of  an  indivi- 
dual feeding  fish  is  to  be  achieved  in  this  way  just 
as  readily  (in  certain  circumstances)  as  with  a 
floating  fly.  I  have  heard  some  of  the  more  rigid 
purists  admit  that  a  few  of  the  smaller  fish  in  a 
chalk  stream  may  perhaps  be  fools  enough  to  take 
a  wet  fly,  but  assert  that  nothing  big  would  ever 
so  far  demean  itself. 

This  by  no  means  accords  with  the  facts  so  far 
as  my  own  experience  has  gone.  The  two-pounder 
is  just  as  likely  to  take  a  wet  fly  properly  presented 
as  the  pounder,  and  it  is  merely  a  question  of  finding 
either  in  the  right  frame  of  mind.  It  may  not  be 
very  important,  but  it  seems  to  me  to  have  some 
significance  that  both  my  biggest  fish  from  the  Itchen 
(they  weighed  two  and  a  half  pounds  apiece)  were 
taken  with  a  wet  fly.  One  was  so  caught  more  or 
less  by  accident — that  is  to  say,  I  intended  to  put 


SOME   CONTROVERSIES  135 

my  hackle-fly  over  him  floating,  but  it  sank  as  it 
fell.  The  other  was  sought  with  a  wet  fly  after  he 
had  refused  two  or  three  patterns  on  the  surface. 
I  have  caught  a  number  of  fish  of  similar  weight 
on  wet  flies  from  both  the  Test  and  the  Kennet, 
where  the  trout  run  to  bigger  sizes. 

There  is,  however,  no  real  need  for  me  to  labour 
the  point  that  the  new  doctrine  of  nymph  fishing 
is  justified  by  its  results  when  there  is  so  convincing 
a  book  as  Mr.  Skues's  Minor  Tactics  ready  to  any 
one's  hand.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  I  thoroughly 
agree  with  him  that  the  method  is  an  invaluable 
addition  to  the  chalk  stream  fisherman's  stock  of 
subtleties. 

The  other  argument  of  the  "  Non  placets,"  that 
it  is  unseemly  to  use  a  wet  fly  on  a  chalk  stream  in 
any  method  whatsoever  seems  to  me  to  be  based 
to  some  extent  on  ignorance  of  what  this  particular 
method  really  is.  The  ignorance  may  in  some 
cases  be  wilful,  and  reminiscent  of  the  resolute  mode 
of  debate  charmingly  summed  up  in  a  recent  bio- 
graphy by  "  I'm  not  arguing,  I'm  telling  you." 
In  such  cases  there  is  little  to  be  said  with  any 
profit,  because  the  most  honeyed  talk  is  of  no  avail 
with  the  deaf  ear.  But  in  other  cases  there  is  doubt- 
less a  genuine  hesitation  as  to  whether  minor  tactics 
is  not  part  and  parcel  of  the  old  system  of  fishing 
which  consisted  in  raking  about  with  a  brace  of 


136  TROUT  FISHING 

big  wet  flies  in  windy  or  rainy  weather,  a  method 
which  our  forefathers  employed  because  they  knew 
no  better  way  of  catching  the  fish,  except  perhaps 
the  minnow  or  the  worm. 

The  brief  answer  to  this  supposition  is  that  minor 
tactics  is  different  from  ordinary  dry-fly  fishing 
only  in  the  matter  of  the  fly.  You  mark  down  your 
feeding  fish,  or  your  fish  that  looks  like  feeding, 
in  exactly  the  same  way.  You  take  exactly  the 
same  precautions  of  approach,  you  cover  him  in 
exactly  the  same  manner,  and  to  the  best  of  your 
ability  you  offer  him  an  imitation  of  something  on 
which  he  is  feeding.  But  you  so  arrange  things 
that  the  fly  comes  down  to  him  beneath,  instead 
of  on,  the  surface  of  the  water,  because  he  is  taking 
subaqueous  and  not  surface  food.  This,  at  any 
rate,  is  a  sufficiently  accurate  general  statement 
of  the  case.  Individual  anglers  may  elaborate  their 
proceedings  by  seeking  to  impart  a  little  motion  to 
their  fly  as  it  comes  down,  so  that  it  may  the  better 
imitate  a  live  nymph.  Others  may  try  to  give  an 
impression  of  "  aliveness  "  to  the  artificial  by  careful 
selection  and  arrangement  of  the  materials  from 
which  it  is  built.  But  without  such  elaboration 
the  method  briefly  described  will  serve  and  will 
catch  fish. 

A  point  which  I  believe  might  weigh  favourably 
with  some  of  the  opponents  of  minor  tactics  is  the 


SOME  CONTROVERSIES  137 

difficulty  of  the  method.  It  is  often  a  hard  job 
to  make  your  fly  sink  when  you  want  it  to.  It  is 
always  a  hard  job  to  be  sure  when  a  fish  has  taken 
it  under  water  in  time  for  a  strike  to  have  the  desired 
effect.  The  chalk  stream  as  a  rule  does  not  help 
you  to  a  conclusion  as  does  a  rapid  mountain  river 
when  you  are  casting  upstream.  There  any  stoppage 
of  the  line  is  marked  enough  to  be  visible  to  the  eye 
and  often  perceptible  to  the  hand,  while  the  rapid 
movement  of  the  fish  very  likely  causes  a  disturbance 
in  the  water  which  is  immediately  noticed.  But 
the  chalk  stream  has  not  enough  pace  for  the  passage 
of  the  line  to  be  of  much  help,  while  the  fish,  being 
more  or  less  in  a  position  to  intercept  the  fly  just 
by  opening  his  mouth,  possibly  causes  no  disturbance 
in  the  water  at  all.  The  minor  tactician  must  make 
up  his  mind  to  be  content  with  very  inadequate 
indications  of  a  rise,  and  he  must  expect,  if  things 
are  not  too  favourable,  to  miss  a  good  many  fish 
which  certainly  take  his  fly  and  give  him  a  chance  of 
hooking  them  if  only  he  could  take  advantage  of  it. 
One  does  get  a  sort  of  instinct  as  to  a  rise  with 
practice,  but  I  am  never  quite  sure  how  I  detect  one 
unless  there  is  a  definite  commotion  of  the  water 
(what  you  have  to  look  for  was  recently  celebrated 
in  the  Fly  Fishers'  Club  Journal  as  a  "  wink  under 
water";  it  describes  it  very  well)  or  unless  I  can 
actually  see  the  fish.  The  last  is  the  condition  most 


138  TROUT  FISHING 

desirable  in  this  kind  of  fishing.  If  you  can  watch  the 
trout  you  get  an  idea  as  to  what  he  is  doing,  and  can 
pretty  soon  make  up  your  mind  whether  a  dry  or  wet 
fly  is  more  likely  to  suit  him.  And  if  you  decide  on  the 
wet  you  have  a  very  good  chance  of  knowing  accur- 
ately whether  and  when  it  is  taken.  You  cannot 
(at  least  I  cannot ;  very  keen  eyesight  may  stand  a 
better  chance)  see  the  fly  itself  under  water,  but 
you  know  pretty  well  where  it  is,  and  if  you  see 
the  trout  turn  to  right  or  left  and  open  and  shut  his 
mouth  at  about  the  right  moment,  you  tighten  up 
with  a  good  deal  of  confidence  that  the  fly  is  in  the 
said  mouth.  Which  generally  proves  to  be  the  case. 
It  is  a  fascinating  sight  to  see  a  good  fish  come  up 
at  a  dry  fly,  but  I  am  not  sure  that  the  spectacle 
of  the  same  fish  turning  under  water  to  one's  nymph 
is  not  even  more  attractive.  It  has  an  element  of 
sporting  chance  in  it  which  appeals  to  human  nature. 
Minor  tactics,  if  the  foregoing  account  of  it  be 
allowed  correct,  is  obviously  a  great  advance  on  the 
old  convention  of  wet-fly  fishing  in  the  chalk  stream. 
But  to  my  mind  it  is  also,  or  may  be,  a  great  advance 
on  the  old  convention  of  wet-fly  fishing  in  mountain 
streams  also,  even  on  the  upstream  method  which 
it  so  much  resembles.  I  remember  vividly  one 
occasion  when  I  was  grateful  for  minor  tactics  on 
such  a  stream.  It  was  fairly  early  in  the  season, 
but  the  weather  was  summerlike,  and  an  evening 


SOME  CONTROVERSIES  139 

rise  was  developing.  I  had  come  to  a  pool  where  I 
knew  there  were  always  a  number  of  good  fish,  and 
these  I  found  feeding  vigorously  in  a  sort  of  chain 
in  the  glide  at  the  head.  They  were  rising  just 
as  chalk  stream  trout  do,  and  must  have  been  lying 
close  to  the  surface,  though  I  could  not  actually 
see  them.  I  tried  them  first  with  the  three-fly 
collar  which  I  had  on  the  line,  with  no  result  beyond 
putting  some  of  them  down.  Then  I  retreated  to  a 
rock,  sat  down  on  it,  and  told  myself  that  this  was 
just  such  an  occasion  as  the  dry-fly  man  in  a  strange 
country  hopes  for.  And  I  made  preparations  for 
a  bit  of  dry-fly  work.  Meanwhile  the  trout  which 
had  been  put  down  seemed  to  recover  confidence, 
and  by  the  time  I  was  ready  all  were  as  hard  at  work 
as  ever. 

To  my  disgust  when  the  far-famed  dry  fly  came 
to  the  test  it  was  as  futile  as  the  three-fly  collar 
had  been.  One  or  two  fish  seemed  to  push  it  (or 
them ;  there  were  several  patterns)  contemptuously 
with  their  noses,  but  nothing  else  happened.  I 
had  to  own  myself  defeated,  in  spite  of  progress. 
But  as  a  last  resort,  I  decided  to  try  a  single  wet 
fly,  a  small  blue  upright,  fished  as  carefully  as  I  could 
manage  it  over  individual  fish.  And  this  I  did 
with  the  satisfactory  result  of  getting  five  respectable 
fish  out  of  that  single  pool,  besides  hooking  and  losing 
one  or  two  more.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  at  the 


140  TROUT  FISHING 

time,  but  afterwards  I  realised  that  I  had  tried  wet 
fly  and  dry  fly  in  vain,  and  had  finally  scored  by 
the  use  of  what  was  really  minor  tactics. 

To  the  really  expert  wet-fly  man  I  expect  minor 
tactics  displayed  in  this  way  is  nothing  new;  pro- 
bably that  it  is  his  natural  way  of  fishing  in  circum- 
stances resembling  those  described.  If  he  finds  trout 
rising  steadily  he  no  doubt  approaches  them  with 
very  accurate  casting  and  generally  with  a  single  fly. 
I  should  now  endeavour  to  do  the  like,  but  until 
I  had  that  lesson  I  used  to  blunder  on  with  my  two 
or  three  flies  and  often  to  wonder  why  visibly  feed- 
ing fish  gave  such  poor  response.  The  fact  that  they 
are  comparatively  rare  in  mountain  streams  owing 
to  the  nature  of  the  water  encouraged  this.  If  I 
failed  in  one  place  I  merely  went  on  to  the  next, 
so  I  never  learnt  anything  about  such  fish. 

There  is,  by  the  way,  one  more  objection  to  minor 
tactics  which  is  worth  considering,  and  that  is  that 
it  probably  makes  the  fish  shyer  than  they  would 
otherwise  be.  I  do  not  think  it  is  possible  yet  to 
prove  this  one  way  or  the  other,  because  the  art 
is  comparatively  new,  and  at  most  has  only  been 
employed  occasionally  as  an  alternative  to  dry-fly 
fishing.  My  belief,  however,  is  that  so  far  from 
making  the  fish  shyer  it  might  tend  to  improve  their 
nerves.  If  you  hammer  away  at  bulging  trout 
with  a  dry  fly  you  are  sure  to  make  them  suspicious 


SOME  CONTROVERSIES  141 

— every  Mayfly  season  proves  that  anew — but  I 
do  not  think  that  a  wet  fly,  even  several  times 
offered,  affects  them  nearly  so  much.  They  may 
not  take  it,  but  they  seem  to  go  on  feeding  unper- 
turbed. And  in  any  case  it  is  a  relief  from  dry-fly 
hammering,  and  so  may  even  tend  to  improve  the 
prospects  of  the  dry  fly  when  the  fish  are  really  on 
surface  food.  Time  may  show  what  the  truth  of 
the  matter  is. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MINNOW    AND    WORM 

IT  is  some  time  since  I  have  done  much  spinning 
for  trout,  and  a  long  time  since  I  used  to  keep  the 
apparatus  for  this  art  ready  and  in  order.  If  I 
should  happen  to  want  to  spin  now  I  could  lay  my 
hand  upon  rod  and  reel,  but  it  would  be  an  arduous 
business  to  collect  the  other  essentials.  Some- 
where, I  know,  there  are  spinning  flights  of  various 
kinds  and  sizes,  somewhere  there  should  be  an 
envelope  full  of  traces,  somewhere  there  is  a  varied 
assortment  of  artificial  minnows  in  a  state  of  more 
or  less  dilapidation,  but  I  could  not  say  for  certain 
where  most  of  these  things  may  be.  Time  was 
when  I  had  most  of  them  ready  for  use  and  took 
them  out  several  times  in  a  season,  but  now  spinning 
for  trout  is  only  a  very  occasional  thing  with  me. 

This  is  decidedly  not  a  matter  of  principle,  rather 
of  circumstance.  For  a  good  long  time  I  have  had 
very  little  to  do  with  waters  where  spinning  is  a 
seemly  and  possible  thing.  But  supposing  that 
Fate  again  cast  my  lines  for  me  at  all  frequently 
in  the  Thames  or  some  such  river  they  would  often 

142 


MINNOW  AND   WORM  143 

have  spinning  baits  at  the  end  of  them.  Not  that 
previous  experience  of  the  Thames  has  encouraged 
me  to  boast  much  about  that  water.  My  total 
catch  of  Thames  trout  could  be  counted  on  one 
finger  of  one  hand.  And  my  only  claim  to  distinc- 
tion in  this  fishing  is  that  my  capture  is  the  smallest 
authentic  Thames  trout  on  record — at  any  rate  I 
do  not  think  any  one  else  can  have  landed  one  of 
seven  and  a  half  inches  in  a  district  where  there  had 
been  no  restocking  with  yearlings.  Somebody  may 
counter  me  with  the  proud  claim  of  a  six-inch 
specimen,  but  if  so  I  shall  be  surprised,  and  anyway 
I  hope  he  will  be  no  more  able  to  produce  his  evidence 
than  I  am  to  produce  mine. 

The  Thames  has  treated  me  very  badly,  for  I 
have  done  a  certain  amount  of  angling  for  its  trout 
on  and  off.  For  two  or  three  years  a  week-end 
cottage  on  an  upper  reach  gave  me  opportunity, 
and  I  made  fairly  diligent  use  of  it,  both  with  spin- 
ning bait  and  fly.  But  I  never  even  hooked  a  fish 
at  that  time  save  the  baby  mentioned,  though  one 
day  I  had  the  excitement  of  seeing  two  pretty  big 
ones  roll  over  at  a  gold-bodied  salmon-fly,  unhappily 
without  touching  it.  And  I  had  other  thrilling 
times  too.  Well  do  I  remember  two  or  three 
summer  evenings  spent  on  Benson  weirpool,  and  the 
really  alarming  sight  when  just  before  dark  heavy 
trout  came  on  to  feed  in  various  portions  of  the  big 


144  TROUT  FISHING 

pool.  They  made  a  tremendous  pother  for  their 
size,  and  it  was  quite  nervous  work  casting  for 
them.  I  do  not  suppose  that  I  covered  one  properly 
at  all,  for  very  odd  things  kept  happening  to  the 
reel  and  line,  over-runs,  tangles,  and  so  on.  I  had 
all  the  time,  too,  a  feeling  that  it  was  quite  useless 
casting  to  a  spot  where  a  trout  had  shown,  because 
by  the  time  the  bait  reached  it  the  fish  would  be 
somewhere  else.  The  period  of  feeding  was  very 
short,  not  more  than  twenty  minutes  each  evening, 
so  I  never  seemed  to  have  a  chance  of  getting  cool 
and  deciding  on  a  definite  policy.  Good  resolutions 
formed  earlier  all  went  to  the  winds.  If  I  could  have 
the  time  over  again  I  would  "  lay  for  "  the  fellow  who 
jumped  off  the  weed-bed  in  the  neck  of  the  pool  and 
try  to  ignore  the  others.  I  am  sure  he  was  well 
into  the  'teens.  But  I  never  got  a  bait  near  him. 

I  suppose  most  Thames  weirpools  contain  a  num- 
ber of  big  trout.  Certain  it  is  that  they  all  have  a 
number  of  assiduous  anglers.  Except  for  the  period 
in  the  Benson  district  I  have  only  fished  seriously 
for  trout  at  one  place,  Penton  Hook.  That  fine 
combination  of  stream  and  pool  took  my  fancy 
mightily  at  the  first  sight,  and  whenever  I  have 
wanted  a  day  of  solid  spinning  for  trout  I  have  been 
to  the  Hook.  It  is  a  water  which,  from  the  bank, 
needs  long  casting.  Once,  in  May,  I  found  two  fish 
furiously  feeding  on  the  shallow  below  the  weir. 


MINNOW  AND  WORM  145 

On  that  occasion  I  had  a  light  grilse-rod  and  was 
trying  the  fly.  The  fish  were  quite  close  together, 
they  fed  for  an  hour  or  more  (probably  on  minnows, 
for  they  hardly  moved  a  yard),  and  I  nearly  broke 
my  back  trying  to  get  out  the  extra  five  yards  of 
line  that  would  just  have  placed  the  Silver  Grey 
under  their  notice.  I  failed. 

On  another  occasion  I  had  better  luck  up  to  a 
point.  At  about  sunset  a  big  trout  showed  at  the 
other  end  of  the  Hook,  in  the  deep  water  off  the  sill 
of  the  overflow  weir.  He  was  well  out  in  the  river, 
and  it  was  a  long  cast  for  a  light  bait.  However, 
for  once  in  a  way  I  did  what  I  wanted,  and  dropped 
the  bleak  almost  exactly  in  the  swirl.  And  then  I 
began  to  pull  it  home  as  steadily  as  I  could.  At 
once  it  was  plain  that  things  were  stirring.  For 
neck  and  neck  with  my  revolving  bleak  raced  another 
bleak  with  hops  and  skips,  going  hell  for  leather, 
while  behind  both  came  a  tidy  wave.  My  heart 
rose  into  my  mouth.  Which  was  the  trout  going  to 
take  ?  The  race  lasted  to  within  a  yard  or  two  of 
the  bank,  and  then  of  course  I  knew  and  sorrowed. 
While  it  lasted  it  was  as  exciting  an  experience  as 
I  have  ever  had  in  fishing.  Even  now  it  almost 
makes  Thames  trout  fishing  seem  worth  while. 

There  are  some  other  rivers  where  spinning  in  the 
Thames  fashion  with  relatively  strong  tackle  and 
big  bait  pays,  but  in  general  the  business  is  more 


146  TROUT  FISHING 

delicate.  On  the  mountain  streams  it  can  be  a  very 
pretty  art.  On  a  coldish  day  with  a  ruffle  of  wind, 
even  though  the  water  be  rather  low,  a  small  natural 
minnow  mounted  on  some  inconspicuous  flight  and 
very  fine  gut  may  do  great  execution  and  account 
for  big  fish.  I  have  found  it  best  as  a  rule  to  fish  up- 
stream. Though  the  bait  has  to  be  spun  home 
more  quickly,  I  think  the  fish  take  it  better.  It  is 
more  difficult  to  handle  rod  and  line  in  upstream 
fishing,  but  that  I  take  to  be  an  advantage.  Per- 
sonally, I  always  cast  from  the  coil  for  this  purpose, 
never  having  had  a  reel  with  which  I  could  throw  a 
very  light  bait  accurately  enough  for  short  casts, 
often  among  bushes.  But  with  two  or  three  coils 
on  the  left  hand  one  can  do  all  that  is  needed.  For 
downstream  fishing,  where  one  can  use  more  lead 
and  make  longer  casts,  I  rather  prefer  casting  from 
the  reel.  It  is  less  trouble,  and  I  think  the  steady 
spin  of  the  bait  is  more  attractive  to  trout. 

On  the  whole  I  have  found  the  natural  bait  do 
better  than  an  artificial,  though  its  superiority  has 
not  been  very  marked.  It  certainly  induces  bolder 
runs,  as  might  be  expected,  but  it  does  not  neces- 
sarily move  more  fish.  I  remember  a  day  on  a  small 
river,  where  the  water  was  rather  full  and  slightly 
stained,  and  the  weather  rather  blustery.  I  fished 
with  a  small  gold  Devon  for  several  hours,  and  I 
should  think  I  must  have  moved  every  considerable 


MINNOW  AND   WORM  147 

trout  that  saw  it  over  two  miles  or  more  of  water. 
I  had  a  most  optimistic  report  of  half-pounders, 
and  better,  to  make  in  the  evening.  But  I  was  not 
able  to  produce  any  in  proof,  for  of  all  the  good  fish 
that  followed  or  came  up  at  my  minnow  I  did  not 
land  one.  One  or  two  were  just  pricked,  and  that 
was  all.  If  I  had  had  any  real  minnows  I  might 
not  have  seen  so  many  trout,  but  I  am  pretty  sure 
I  should  not  have  had  quite  a  blank. 

Mountain  trout  take  an  artificial  minnow  better 
when  the  water  is  decidedly  coloured.  A  gold 
minnow  in  a  porter-water  is  sometimes  extremely 
effective.  And,  where  it  is  allowed,  it  may  be  very 
useful  then,  because  as  a  rule  the  porter-water 
means  that  there  has  been  a  yellow  flood,  and  that 
the  trout,  gorged  with  worms,  are  indifferent  to 
flies.  The  bright  little  spinning  bait  stirs  them  up. 

Fancy  in  types  of  bait  must  be  largely  determined 
by  accident.  I  happen  to  have  done  best  with  the 
Devon  minnow  in  one  of  its  forms,  so  I  depend  on 
it  more  than  on  anything  else.  I  do  not  remember 
ever  killing  a  trout  on  a  Phantom,  though  I  know 
quite  well  that  some  men  find  it  all  that  they  need. 
And  on  the  other  hand  I  have  never  killed  a  salmon 
on  a  Devon,  though  I  have  done  pretty  well  with 
the  Phantom.  Which  shows  how  oddly  things  may 
turn  out  for  the  individual.  Probably  the  reason 
in  my  case  is  that  I  do  not  find  a  Phantom  revolve 


148  TROUT  FISHING 

so  quickly  as  I  could  wish  for  trout,  while  in  salmon 
fishing  I  find  a  big  Devon  too  heavy  and  too  fond 
of  the  bottom.  So  as  a  result  my  use  of  the  baits 
is  strictly  limited.  At  one  time  I  was  very  fond  of 
some  Devons  made  of  clear  quill,  and  I  found  them 
quite  killing  among  some  trout  that  knew  a  deal 
about  the  ways  of  the  world.  The  trouble  with 
those  minnows  was  that  they  were  rather  fragile 
and  were  apt  to  lose  their  metal  fans.  If  quill 
minnows  could  be  made  all  in  one  piece,  with  quill 
fans,  I  think  they  would  be  excellent.1  The  Wagtail 
is  rather  good  for  big  trout  and  so,  sometimes,  is 
the  spoon.  But  it  would  be  hard  to  find  any  well- 
made  artificial  bait  which  would  not  do  execution, 
and  I  should  be  about  equally  hopeful  with  anything, 
having,  however,  first  regretted  that  it  was  not  a 
natural  bait. 

In  an  earlier  chapter  I  touched  on  the  drop- 
minnow,  an  art  which  is  closely  allied  to  spinning, 
though  it  is  different  in  essential  points.  I  then 
extolled  its  merits  for  fishing  small  overgrown  brooks, 
and  there  is  really  not  much  more  to  say  about  it, 
except  that  it  is  extremely  deadly  in  other  waters 
too.  On  some  of  the  Border  rivers  they  know  all 
about  the  drop-minnow,  and  many  is  the  fine  trout 

1  The  pretty  celluloid  minnows  made  by  the  Dreadnought 
Casting  Reel  Company,  Newport,  Isle  of  Wight,  to  a  great 
extent  meet  this  need.  I  have  found  them  good  for  both  trout 
and  pike  in  clear  water. 


MINNOW  AND   WORM  14, 

that  with  its  aid  is  cozened  out  of  the  deep,  still 
pools  even  in  time  of  drought.  One  sometimes  sees 
complaints,  especially  from  the  West  Country,  that 
streams  are  being  spoilt  by  too  great  a  survival 
of  old  cannibal  trout,  the  big-headed  fish  of  some 
two  pounds  which  possibly  do  more  harm  in  a  water 
than  good.1  Occasionally  these  complaints  result 
in  a  crusade  against  the  cannibals  with  nets.  I 
believe  that  a  careful  use  of  the  drop-minnow  in  the 
pools  when  they  are  low  would  materially  reduce 
the  number  of  such  fish,  and  it  would  be  a  simpler 
job  than  an  elaborate  netting. 

There  is  one  other  use  of  the  minnow  of  which  I 
was  told  one  autumn  when  I  was  salmon  fishing  a 
Border  river.  I  have  never  seen  it  practised,  but  it 
was  described  to  me  as  being  extremely  deadly. 
It  consists  simply  in  legering  with  a  dead  minnow  in 
an  eddy  when  there  is  a  yellow  flood  on.  There  is 
a  bullet  on  the  line  about  two  feet  from  the  hook, 
the  minnow  is  attached  to  the  hook,  and  the  rod 
rests  on  a  forked  stick  such  as  roach  fishers  use. 
The  "  deid  minnow,"  as  it  is  called,  seems  to  be  the 
local  stand-by  in  certain  districts  in  circumstances 
where  other  districts  would  favour  the  worm.  I 

1  Since  this  was  written,  Dr.  Knut  Dahl  has  published  in  the 
Salmon  and  Trout  Magazine  his  very  interesting  experiments 
with  trout  ova.  Put  succinctly  the  results  are  :  big  parents,  big 
ova,  big  and  quickly  growing  offspring.  I  think  our  attitude 
towards  the  alleged  cannibals  needs  reconsidering. 


150  TROUT  FISHING 

suppose  the  line  is  so  arranged  that  the  minnow 
wavers  to  and  fro  in  the  stream,  but  it  may  be  that 
trout  in  some  circumstances  will  take  a  bait  which 
is  frankly  dead  and  without  movement  at  all.  I 
have  heard  of  their  being  caught  on  a  quite  dead 
minnow  suspended  below  a  float.  But  I  must 
own  to  a  prejudice  in  favour  of  some  attempt  to 
simulate  life  in  one's  bait  in  whatever  way  it  is 
employed. 

I  have  touched  on  the  worm  in  relation  to  trout 
before  in  this  book,  but  I  hope  that  my  readers  will 
not  impute  to  me  too  great  a  fondness  for  the  subject 
because  I  return  to  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  am  not 
over  and  above  fond  of  worm  fishing  for  trout. 
And  yet  memories  stir  in  me  which  forbid  my 
saying  that  I  do  not  like  it  at  all.  One  of  my 
earliest  experiences  of  trout  of  any  magnitude  was 
gained  on  some  extremely  pretty  ponds  which  run 
in  a  kind  of  chain  down  a  Worcestershire  hill,  the 
two  or  three  at  the  bottom  forming  a  feature  of  a 
delightful  garden.  I  forgot  how  I  came  to  be  fishing 
them,  but  I  think  I  must  have  asked  for  permission 
in  an  extremely  brazen  manner.  It  was,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  a  custom  of  mine  as  a  small  boy  to  apply 
for  fishing  leave  without  any  respect  for  persons  or 
places.  Nor  do  I  remember  ever  getting  "  No  "  for 
an  answer.  The  long-suffering  displayed  by  grown- 
ups to  small  fishing  boys  is  marvellous. 


MINNOW  AND   WORM  151 

Anyhow  there  I  was  on  the  lawn  with  a  stiff  rod 
in  my  hand,  a  float  before  my  eyes,  and  a  worm 
somewhere  under  the  water.  I  remember  that  the 
float  had  been  dropped  in  quite  close  to  the  camp- 
sheathing  which  fortified  the  hatch  between  the  two 
ponds.  I  knew  a  lot  about  perch  in  those  days, 
though  little  about  trout  (and  nothing  about  trout 
in  ponds),  and  I  picked  for  my  first  venture  a  spot 
which  perch  would  naturally  choose  in  the  hope 
that  trout  would  not  be  far  different  in  habit.  The 
float  disappeared  with  very  little  delay — I  still 
retain  the  freshness  of  the  incredulity  with  which  I 
saw  it  sink — and  after  very  little  more  delay  I  pos- 
sessed a  large  trout.  I  think  he  was  three-quarters 
of  a  pound.  I  certainly  wasted  no  time  in  playing 
him. 

The  rest  of  that  day  is  less  vividly  before  me,  but  I 
remember  that  it  did  not  go  on  as  it  began,  and  that 
I  did  not  make  a  huge  basket  of  fish.  I  got  three 
only,  one  I  think  about  a  pound,  the  other  a  fat 
creature  of  six  ounces  which  was  the  most  beautiful 
object  I  had  ever  seen,  as  golden  as  a  new  sovereign. 
That  fish  came  from  the  top  pond  of  all,  a  mere 
puddle  up  in  the  wood,  which  must  have  been  above 
the  fishery  proper.  Very  handsome  treatment  in 
the  matter  of  luncheon,  and  a  seven-mile  walk  home 
in  the  evening  are  my  other  memories  of  the 
day. 


152  TROUT  FISHING 

There  is  a  curious  circumstance  about  those 
ponds.  I  fished  them  once  again,  and  once  only, 
so  far  as  I  can  remember,  and  then  with  the  fly, 
which  I  had  studied  assiduously  in  the  interval  of, 
I  think,  a  year.  I  know  I  had  a  fine  catch  then, 
and  I  am  pretty  sure  it  consisted  of  eleven  fish 
averaging  probably  three-quarters  of  a  pound.  I 
know  also  that  I  was  intensely  proud  of  them. 
Now  I  sometimes  meet  the  present  owner  of  the 
estate,  and  he  always  assures  me  positively  that  the 
effect  of  me  on  the  fishery  was  as  the  effect  of  a  net, 
followed  by  a  draining  dry,  with  a  dressing  of  lime 
to  wind  up.  The  cataclysm,  such  as  it  was,  occurred 
before  his  day,  and  I  suspect  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
But  obviously  I  somehow  gained  a  great  and  terrible 
reputation,  and  the  only  conclusion  I  can  come  to 
is  that  I  must  have  talked  at  large  and  multiplied 
that  catch  by  at  least  ten.  Small  boys  do  that  sort 
of  thing  when  exchanging  notes.  If  you  listen  to 
them  comparing  their  fathers  you  are  pretty  sure 
to  hear  one,  in  the  crescendo  of  effort,  make  some 
such  claim  as  that  "  My  father  can  hold  six  lions  in 
each  hand."  And  I  fear  it  has  not  been  otherwise 
with  any  of  us. 

I  have  seen  some  big  trout  caught  with  a  worm 
in  my  time,  especially  trout  of  the  type  found  in 
rivers  which  are  mostly  stocked  with  coarse  fish. 
I  remember  a  brace  weighing  over  five  pounds 


MINNOW   AND   WORM  153 

and  over  six  pounds  respectively  being  caught 
within  half  an  hour  of  each  other  from  identically 
the  same  spot  in  the  corner  of  a  small  weirpool. 
One  man  would  doubtless  have  had  the  two,  but 
after  catching  the  five-pounder  he  naturally  thought 
that  honour  was  satisfied  and  that  he  might  go  off 
to  lunch.  By  which  the  next  comer  benefited.  A 
curious  feature  connected  with  that  incident  is  that 
never  another  really  big  trout  was  taken  from  that 
pool  with  the  worm,  though  one  or  two  were  had 
afterwards  by  spinning,  and  one  or  two,  I  believe, 
with  the  fly. 

On  another  fishery  I  can  remember  the  capture 
of  heavy  trout  with  worm,  generally  by  a  method 
ludicrous  in  its  straightforwardness.  The  honest 
angler  marked  his  big  trout  down  where  it  lay  on 
some  gravel  patch  near  the  bank.  Then  he  went  and 
drove  it  away.  This  done,  he  placed  a  fat  lobworm 
on  a  hook  just  where  the  fish's  nose  had  been,  let 
out  some  line,  and  afterwards  retired  into  the 
meadow  with  his  rod.  When  he  had  waited  a 
reasonable  time  the  fish  came  back,  found  the  worm, 
and  the  drama  was  played  to  its  conclusion.  I  am 
afraid  there  is  not  such  a  store  of  great  trout  in  that 
water  now  as  there  was  then,  but  even  if  there  were 
employment  of  the  old  device  would  scarcely  be 
possible.  A  female  olive,  or  a  male  black  gnat,  or 
some  such  device,  is  the  general  rule  in  these  days, 


154  TROUT  FISHING 

though  it  does  not  succeed  so  well  with  the  six- 
pounders,  of  which  there  must  be  some  left. 

I  have  never  caught  a  really  big  trout  with  the 
worm  myself,   but   I   have   had   occasional  three- 
pounders  when  perch  fishing.     I  remember  travelling 
down  for  a  day  with  the  Kennet  perch  in  October, 
and  being  rewarded  with  but  a  solitary  bite,  from  a 
trout  of  over  three  pounds,  and  a  similar  thing  has 
happened   to   me    more   than    once.     People   who 
only  fish  for  trout  do  not  know  the  experience  of 
returning  three-pounders  with  revilings.     I  would 
much  sooner  not  get  a  bite  at  all  than  be  tantalised 
in  that  way.     This  brings  me  to  a  point  on  which  I 
want  to  touch.     The  large  trout  has,  except  in  waters 
which  are  much  fished  in  that  way,  a  disconcertingly 
wholesale  method  of  dealing  with  a  worm.     He  just 
swallows  it.     If  you  want  to  return  him  the  only 
thing  to  do  is  to  cut  the  gut  off  as  short  as  possible 
and  let  him  go.     If  you  injure  him  by  trying  to 
disgorge  the  hook  he  dies.     I  think  a  trout  dies  if 
he   bleeds   at   all   on   being  unhooked.     The   only 
safeguard  that  I  know  is  never  to  use  a  single  hook 
in  coarse  fishing  where  there  are  trout.     Use  two 
hooks,  Pennell  fashion,  about  two  or  two  and  a 
half  inches  apart,  and  strike  as  soon  as  you  get  a 
bite.     Then  you  will  almost  always  hook  any  fish  in 
the  mouth  and  there  will  be  no  swallowing.     It  is 
a  decided  advantage  for  perch  as  well  as  trout. 


MINNOW  AND  WORM  155 

In  waters  where  the  trout  know  quite  well  that  the 
arrival  of  a  worm  on  a  hook  means  that  they  are 
being  fished  for  they  will  often  niggle  with  it  as 
daintily  as  a  roach  with  a  piece  of  paste,  but  now-a- 
days  such  waters  are  growing  less  numerous,  as  the 
worm-fishing  fraternity  either  dies  out  or  becomes 
converted  to  the  fly.  So  the  danger  of  a  trout's 
swallowing  everything  at  a  gulp  is  generally  con- 
siderable, and  that  is  why  the  worm  does  not  appeal 
to  me  except  in  special  circumstances.  It  makes 
fishing  altogether  too  crude  a  business,  and  shows 
a  noble  fish  up  in  such  a  bad  light  as  the  worst  kind 
of  glutton.  It  is  preferable  to  ignore  this  side  of 
his  character,  and  when  possible  to  appeal  with  fur 
and  feather  to  that  better  self  which  he  also 
undoubtedly  possesses. 

But  as  I  have  said,  there  are  special  circumstances. 
There  is  the  little  overgrown  brook  which  you 
cannot  fish  with  a  fly.  Its  case  I  have  considered 
earlier.  Then  there  is  the  pea-soup  flood  on  the 
mountain  river.  This  is  a  kind  of  fishing  which 
every  one  unites  to  condemn  in  the  loudest  tones. 
I  condemn  it  too  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  And  yet, 
and  yet — there  is  a  kind  of  fascination  about  the 
thrill  that  comes  up  the  line  when  you  have  let 
down  your  worm  into  the  yellow  eddy  or  slack  to 
find  a  trout  ready  for  it  at  once.  Very  occasionally 
I  must  confess  to  enjoying  an  hour  with  the  worm  in 


156  TROUT  FISHING 

a  spate.  But  I  do  not  care  to  go  on  long  at  it  or  to 
try  for  a  big  catch.  Three  or  four  fish,  just  to 
recapture  old  thrills,  and  I  am  done  with  it. 

It  is  otherwise  on  the  tiny  burn  which  you  fish 
upwards,  moving  from  pool  to  pool.  There  I  will 
take  my  full  day  with  gratitude.  The  worming  I 
mean  is  in  the  bigger  river,  where  you  can  take  a 
dozen  fish  from  a  single  lay-by  if  you  give  your  mind 
to  it.  When  you  know  that  in  a  day  or  two  you 
would  be  able  to  catch  those  same  fish  or  their  likes 
with  a  fly  worming  in  a  flood  seems  a  poor  game  after 
a  bit.  It  is  one  of  those  things  which  have  deterior- 
ated with  the  lapse  of  years.  There  is  no  such 
worming  now  as  there  was  on  that  wet  morning  when 
I  found  that  the  free  water  at  Rhayader,  far  from 
being  destitute  of  trout  as  I  had  supposed,  was 
replete  with  great  fish.  How  they  rushed  for  the 
worm  1  And  how  they  fell  back  one  by  one  into 
the  turbid  stream  with  resounding  splashes  !  I  am 
sure  I  lost  twenty  pounds  of  trout  that  morning, 
little  fool  that  I  was.  That  was  worming  if  you 
like,  and  such  sensations  will  never  come  to  me 
again. 

The  clear-water  worm  by  fairly  common  consent 
(exceptis  excipientibus !)  should  be  placed  in  a  differ- 
ent category,  and  it  represents  an  art  of  fairly  high 
order.  It  calls  for  many  of  the  qualities  required 
by  the  fly  fisher,  as  an  eye  for  water,  a  sensitive 


MINNOW   AND   WORM  157 

hand,  and  so  on.  And  it  demands  great  expertness 
in  the  use  of  rod  and  line.  The  clear-water  wormer 
must  be  able  to  pitch  his  bait  into  a  tea  cup,  as  the 
saying  is,  and  he  must  keep  in  constant  touch  with 
it  as  it  travels  downstream  towards  him.  But, 
when  all  is  admitted,  I  am  not  particularly  fond 
of  the  method,  and,  though  I  sometimes  set  out 
determined  to  give  it  a  thorough  trial,  after  catching 
a  few  fish  I  generally  find  myself  getting  bored. 
But  here  again  I  differentiate  between  a  river  and  a 
burn,  and  it  is  the  river  which  bores  me,  not  the 
burn.  Given  the  conditions  of  low  water  and  hot 
weather  which  make  clear- water  worming  a  success, 
on  a  river  I  enjoy  myself  far  more  by  picking  up  odd 
fish  under  trees  and  bushes  with  a  dry  fly.  You 
don't  get  so  many,  but  you  enjoy  the  catching  of 
them  far  more. 

Possibly  as  a  clear-water  wormer  I  am  hampered 
by  not  yearning  for  very  big  catches  of  trout  at  any 
time.  When  I  read  in  some  of  the  old  chronicles, 
such  as  Henderson's  My  Life  as  an  Angler,  of  creels 
bursting,  pockets  stuffed,  and  a  residue  of  fish  slung 
on  withy  twigs,  I  simply  cannot  understand  the 
frame  of  mind  which  requires  satisfaction  to  brim 
over  in  that  manner.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Henderson 
could  not  have  eaten  sixty  trout,  and  in  the  wilds 
of  Northumberland  in  those  days  he  could  hardly 
have  found  means  of  despatching  them  to  friends. 


158  TROUT  FISHING 

He  must  have  "  seen  red."  And  so  must  Mr. 
Stewart  and  some  others  of  the  great  anglers  of  that 
time  who  counted  on  from  fifteen  to  twenty  pounds 
of  trout  as  a  reasonable  day's  catch. 

Possibly  some  one  will  wish  to  say,  "  Ah,  you  say 
you  don't  want  big  catches  because  you  cannot 
make  them."  And  part  of  that  would  be  true 
certainly.  I  do  not  think  I  could  catch  twenty 
pounds  of  trout  on  any  Border  stream  in  a  day  either 
with  worm  or  fly.  But,  apart  from  lack  of  Border 
skill,  I  should  be  handicapped  by  not  wanting  to, 
unless  of  course  the  fish  were  three  pounds  apiece  or 
more,  when  the  impulse  would  be  different.  After 
a  time  I  should  find  myself  returning  quarter- 
pounders,  and  if  that  did  not  check  the  run  of  luck 
I  should  return  fish  of  six  ounces.  A  red-letter  day 
seems  to  me  an  opportunity  for  big  average  weight 
rather  than  for  a  gross  total. 

Only  once  do  I  remember  having  such  a  day  as 
the  mid- Victorians  seemed  to  consider  their  due. 
On  that  day  I  consigned  to  their  fate  seventy-two 
trout  ranging  from  about  a  quarter  of  a  pound  to 
about  three-quarters  of  a  pound.  I  put  it  in  that 
way  because  as  I  caught  them  the  fish  were  taken 
away  alive  in  water  cans  to  be  placed  in  the  hotel 
stew.  It  was  on  a  German  stream  which,  so  far  as 
I  could  learn,  had  never  been  properly  fished  with 
fly  before.  It  was  a  great  day  certainly,  and  the 


MINNOW  AND  WORM  159 

catch  must  have  weighed  over  twenty  pounds, 
but  it  did  not  seem  like  fishing.  It  was  more  like 
gathering  in  the  harvest.  It  was  on  that  day  that 
I  landed  three  trout  at  once,  all  over  six  ounces,  and 
one  of  them  three-quarters  of  a  pound,  the  only 
occasion  on  which  I  have  had  such  an  experience. 
They  got  tangled  round  a  bush  stranded  below  a 
little  fall,  and  the  youth  who  gillied  me  had  to  wade 
in  and  scoop  them  out  with  the  net.  Which  shows 
you  at  once  that  it  was  not  real  fishing.  Had  it 
been,  a  German  youth  entrusted  with  a  landing-net 
would  certainly  have  knocked  them  off  the  hooks 
one  by  one.  But  Kultur  had  not  really  become  a 
live  issue  in  those  days,  and  it  was  also  practically  a 
virgin  water. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THOUGHTS    ON   BIG   FISH 

A  TROUT  is,  I  take  it,  a  big  one  according  to 
circumstances.  I  have  seen  a  man  in  one  water- 
shed with  mouth  open  and  eyes  a-goggle  on  a  fish  of 
one  pound  being  produced  for  his  inspection.  On 
another  watershed  I  have  seen  the  same  man 
carefully  returning  a  fish  of  over  that  weight  to  the 
stream  with  hardly  a  groan,  or  anyhow  with  no  more 
complaint  than  is  permissible  to  a  wet-fly  fisher 
newly  introduced  to  a  chalk  stream.  One's 
memories  of  big  ones,  therefore,  must  necessarily  be 
coloured  by  the  conditions  in  which  they  were 
caught  or  seen — in  my  case  more  often  seen  than 
caught,  and  I  think  it  is  those  that  were  merely 
seen  that  have  left  the  most  piquant  memory  behind 
them. 

I  remember  once  taking  a  country  walk  with  a 
friend  who  is  now  dead.  It  was  just  a  country  walk 
with  no  atmosphere  of  fishing  about  it.  He  was  no 
fisherman,  and  so  far  as  I  knew  there  were  no  trout 
within  miles.  But  it  was  lovely  country  and  hot 
summer  and  I  was  quite  happy.  About  lunch  time 

160 


THOUGHTS   ON  BIG  FISH  161 

we  sought  the  hospitality  of  a  cottage  standing  a 
little  back  from  the  road  in  a  clump  of  trees  and  there 
procured  a  simple  meal.  It  proved  to  be  one  of 
the  lodges  of  some  big  estate,  and  after  eating  we 
trespassed  a  little,  because  I  had  seen  the  glint  of 
water  through  the  trees  and  I  can  never  resist 
looking  at  water.  It  proved  to  be  the  narrow  end 
of  a  large  lake,  and  there  on  its  bank  we  sat  us  down 
to  smoke  and  digest  for  a  little  before  going  on  our 
way. 

Presently  we  became  aware  of  several  large  fish 
which  sailed  lazily  in  and  out  of  a  sort  of  weedrack 
or  grating  which  crossed  the  water.  "  What  are 
those?"  asked  my  friend.  "Carp,"  I  said 
promptly,  for  they  were  too  big  to  be  anything  else, 
though  they  were  too  far  off  to  be  clearly  dis- 
tinguished. Presently,  however,  their  wanderings 
gradually  brought  them  nearer,  and  to  my  astonish- 
ment I  perceived  that  if  they  were  carp  they  had 
miraculously  acquired  adipose  fins.  Of  course  they 
were  trout,  and  they  were  certainly  the  most  dis- 
tinguished company  for  average  size  that  I  have 
ever  seen  in  my  life.  The  smallest  must  have  been 
over  three  pounds  and  the  biggest  may  well  have 
been  six  or  seven  pounds.  I  suppose  there  were 
eight  or  ten  of  them  in  view.  I  have  often 
wondered  since  whether  they  were  a  fair  sample 
of  the  stock  in  that  lake,  and  speculated  what,  in 


162  TROUT  FISHING 

that  case,  a  day's  fishing  there  would  be  like.  They 
did  not  give  the  impression  of  being  educated  fish, 
and  I  have  always  believed  that  the  water  would 
give  a  sort  of  record  bag.  But  one  cannot  tell.  I 
have  tried  one  or  two  lakes  where  trout  reach  a 
heavy  old  age  almost  undisturbed,  and  found  that 
the  patriarchs  seem  to  absorb  wisdom  without  the 
customary  course  of  instruction,  which  has  been 
very  disappointing  to  me.  Perhaps  it  is  as  well  that 
I  have  never  had  the  chance  of  being  disenchanted 
on  that  other  water.  It  can  remain  a  sort  of  dream 
fishery  with  a  five-pound  average  and  no  reserva- 
tions, mental  or  actual. 

The  biggest  trout  I  ever  saw  alive  and  in  the 
water  was  in  the  Kennet  at  Newbury,  at  the  extreme 
bottom  of  the  Piscatorial  Society's  stretch  which  is 
known  as  "  the  Three  Fields."  It  was  about  6  a.m. 
I  had  come  out  soon  after  daybreak  with  some  idea 
of  fishing,  but  had  found  the  river  too  low  for  any- 
thing owing  to  the  action  of  the  mills  which,  I 
suppose,  were  holding  back  water  for  their  day's 
work.  So  I  sat  on  the  boundary  fence  and  medi- 
tated on  things  in  general  and  on  the  differing 
aspects  of  a  river  when  it  is  full  and  when  it  is 
nearly  empty.  I  was  roused  by  a  splashing  a  little 
below,  and  looking  round  I  perceived  a  really 
enormous  trout  with  half  its  back  out  of  the  water 
rolling  about  and  gathering  in  minnows  by  the 


THOUGHTS   ON  BIG  FISH  163 

mouthful.  It  was  a  magnificent  fish  with  deep 
golden  flanks,  and  it  looked  fully  a  yard  long, 
perhaps  more.  I  never  dared  to  say  what  I  really 
thought  at  the  time  as  to  its  weight,  but  I  have 
always  boldly  maintained  that  it  could  not  have 
been  less  than  fifteen  pounds.  That  would  be  a 
modest  and  retiring  estimate  for  the  fish  I  saw. 
Later  in  the  same  year  there  was  some  confirmation 
of  the  existence  of  this  monster,  when  an  angler 
who  had  been  trying  for  the  barbel  which  sometimes 
lie  in  a  hole  a  little  higher  up — or  even,  in  the  early 
weeks  of  the  season,  on  the  shallow  itself — returned 
with  a  thrilling  story  of  a  colossal  trout  which  had 
taken  the  worm  and  smashed  his  tackle  after  a 
furious  battle.  What  was  the  fish's  ultimate  fate 
I  know  not.  I  never  heard  any  more  of  it. 

I  have  seen  a  few  other  very  big  trout  in  the 
Kennet,  nothing  to  compare  with  that  one,  but  fish 
that  might  be  nearly  ten  pounds.  In  most  years 
there  are  one  or  two  which  live  close  to  the  water 
bridge  right  in  Newbury  town,  and  I  have  seen  a 
monster  or  so  in  other  parts  of  the  river.  The 
biggest  Thames  fish  I  ever  saw  was  the  one  in 
Benson  weirpool  which  I  mentioned  in  the  last 
chapter,  a  fish  of  possibly  thirteen  or  fourteen 
pounds  from  the  splash  of  him.  I  remember 
a  huge  trout  that  used  to  live  in  the  Colne 
at  Uxbridge,  which  looked  like  a  ten-pounder,  but 


164  TROUT  FISHING 

it  was  a  black  fish  and  may  not  have  weighed  so 
much  as  its  length  suggested.     In  one  or  two  other 
rivers  I  have  seen  an  occasional  trout  which  might 
be  getting  on  for  that  weight.     One  of  them,  oddly 
enough,  was  the  Great  Ouse,  which  is  as  little  of  a 
trout  stream  as  any  river  we  possess.     It  was  at 
Holywell  Ferry,  and  I  was  drifting  quietly  down- 
stream in  a  boat,  looking  into  the  water  for  some 
signs  of  those  big  perch  which  haunt  that  part  of 
the  river,  when  my  eye  lighted  on  a  great  fish  with 
spots,  an  undoubted  trout  and  a  big  one.     I  believe 
there  have  always  been  a  few  trout  in  the  reach 
below  St.  Ives,  which  is  much  of  it  gravelly  and  not 
very  deep,  and  recently  I  have  seen  accounts  of 
some  being  noticed  in  the  Staunch  Pit  below  St. 
Ives'  lock.     Perhaps  they  are  descendants  of  the 
fish  I  saw. 

For  those  who  have  never  seen  a  really  big  trout 
in  the  water  and  who  yearn  to  do  so,  the  observation 
post  I  could  best  recommend  from  my  own  experi- 
ence would  be  the  great  dam  at  Blagdon.  You 
may  not  fish  from  the  dam,  but  you  are  allowed 
to  walk  along  the  top  of  it  to  get  to  the  lake  shore 
beyond.  On  a  bright,  calm  day  you  are  very 
likely  to  see,  with  its  chin  resting  on  one  of  the 
sloping  concrete  blocks,  a  trout  which  will  make 
your  heart  beat  faster.  On  one  occasion  I  saw  two, 
about  forty  yards  apart,  which  I  am  sure  were  fully 


THOUGHTS   ON  BIG   FISH  165 

twelve  pounds  apiece.  One  was  a  light  fish,  the 
other  a  dark  one.  The  next  evening  I  was  in  a  boat 
and  I  need  hardly  say  that  I  made  for  the  dam  in 
the  hope  of  stirring  one  of  the  giants.  Nor  need  I 
say  that  I  might  just  as  well  have  fished  away  at 
Ubley  for  all  the  response  I  got.  You  can  often 
in  calm  weather  reconstruct  big  fish  at  Blagdon 
from  certain  signs,  the  tip  of  a  nose  at  one  point, 
a  back  fin  behind  it  and  a  tail  behind  that.  Some- 
times there  are  appalling  distances  between  these 
objects  as  some  veteran  lazily  rolls  among  the  olive 
midges  after  sunset.  But  that  is  not  the  same  as 
actually  taking  in  the  length  and  width  of  the 
creature  at  your  leisure,  as  you  can  from  the 
vantage-point  of  the  dam.  Therefore  I  recommend 
that  promenade  for  the  purpose.  Sometimes,  of 
course,  one  sees  nothing  there  except  a  three- 
pounder  or  so,  but  I  am  always  disappointed  if  I 
have  passed  along  without  spotting  something  out 
of  the  common. 

To  the  end  of  one's  angling  life,  I  suppose,  one 
will  continue  at  times  to  be  misled  by  the  appear- 
ance of  things,  and  of  fish  among  them.  Every 
season  I  get  an  occasional  disappointment  on  catch- 
ing some  trout  which,  seen  at  a  distance,  had  struck 
me  as  being  beyond  the  common  in  point  of  size. 
But  a  short  time  ago  I  had  a  rather  ignominious 
experience  of  the  kind.  In  a  tiny  stream  in  which  I 


166  TROUT  FISHING 

had  acquired  angling  rights,  though  circumstances 
had  prevented  me  from  making  much  use  of  them, 
I  discovered  a  red  trout  lying  at  the  point  where  the 
water,  from  being  a  system  of  two  or  three  nothings 
making  damp  threads  through  a  meadow,  con- 
centrates itself  into  a  single  channel  and  is  recognis- 
able as  a  brook.  There  is,  in  fact,  a  little  pool  at 
this  point,  and  in  this  pool  I  could  see  two  or  three 
trout,  particularly  the  big  red  one. 

He  looked  very  impressive  in  so  small  a  place, 
and  I  unhesitatingly  estimated  him  at  two  and  a 
half  pounds,  which  would  be  a  huge  fish  for  the 
water,  whose  average  weight  is  more  like  ten  ounces. 
And  I  was  confirmed  in  my  opinion  when  after 
taking  my  Wickham's  fancy  he  bolted  downstream 
into  a  clump  of  rushes,  and  smashed  my  cast  as 
if  it  had  been  cobweb.  Worse  than  this,  I  confided 
my  opinion  to  one  or  two  others  who  might  be 
interested  in  the  matter,  and  committed  myself  to 
the  story  that  the  brook  held  trout  up  to  two  and 
a  half  pounds.  That  sort  of  story  gives  a  fishery 
dignity  and  importance. 

I  only  had  one  more  day's  fishing  there  before 
the  season  closed,  and  then  I  was  unfortunate 
enough  to  catch,  among  others,  my  red  trout, 
whom  I  found  lying  in  exactly  the  same  place  and 
on  whom  I  tried  forcing  tactics  as  soon  as  I  had 
hooked  him,  on  a  cochybonddu  this  time.  I 


THOUGHTS   ON  BIG  FISH  167 

found  the  forcing  tactics  unexpectedly  successful, 
the  reason  being  clear  when  the  fish  came  to  the 
spring  balance  and  made  no  more  than  one  pound 
five  ounces.  Seldom  have  I  been  worse  deceived  by 
a  fish;  I  suppose  the  confined  space  in  which  he 
had  his  abode  made  him  seem  disproportionately 
big.  Fortunately  on  the  same  day  I  discovered 
another  trout  in  a  little  hatch-hole  which  enabled 
me  to  stick  to  the  "  up  to  two  and  a  half  pounds  " 
account.  His  head  and  shoulders  must  have 
weighed  that,  though  I  question  whether  the  rest 
of  him  weighed  anything.  He  was  a  lamentable 
twenty  inches  of  trout. 

I  fully  expected  to  catch  him  when  I  saw  what 
he  was  like  (though  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  did  not), 
for  the  reason  that  if  there  is  a  decrepit  fish  anywhere 
about  which  only  weighs  half  what  it  should,  it  is 
almost  certain  to  come  and  take  my  fly.  Possibly 
my  fondness  for  fishing  in  odd  places,  backwaters, 
carriers,  millheads,  and  the  like,  lays  me  open  to 
this,  for  bad  old  fish  certainly  tend  to  inhabit  the 
quieter  and  less  vigorous  parts  of  a  water.  Even 
the  well-known  monster  which  lies  under  a  bridge 
often  turns  out  to  be  mostly  head,  and  presumably 
he  has  some  easy  nook  behind  a  buttress  or  in  an 
eddy  where  he  can  avoid  the  exertion  of  constantly 
breasting  a  strong  stream.  You  do  not  often 
catch  one  of  these  bridge  trout,  and  when  you  do  it 


168  TROUT  FISHING 

almost  always  disappoints  you  by  not  coming  up 
to  your  expectations  of  its  weight. 

One  of  my  most  grievous  disappointments  I  have 
related  elsewhere.  I  marked  a  great  trout  feeding 
in  a  portion  of  the  Kennet  and  Avon  canal,  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  him  to  take  a  dry  Wickham,  and 
for  several  minutes  was  convinced  that  I  had  on 
the  fish  of  my  dry-fly  career.  He  proved  indeed  to 
be  about  twenty-four  inches  long  when  at  last  I  got 
him  out,  but  unfortunately  he  was  one  of  the  old 
breed  which  has  become  dolefully  familiar  to  me, 
and  instead  of  weighing  a  good  seven  pounds  as 
he  should  have,  he  only  touched  four  and  a  half 
pounds.  In  the  water,  of  course,  he  seemed  much 
more  than  that  owing  to  his  great  length,  and  as  I 
was  using  fine  gut  the  fight  was  long  enough  to  have 
been  put  up  by  a  six  or  seven-pounder. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  I  have  only  once  caught  a 
bigger  fish  with  dry  fly,  and  that  was  at  Blagdon, 
so  it  could  scarcely  claim  special  honours.  It  was 
satisfactory,  however,  as  rewarding  a  real  bit  of 
dry-fly  work.  I  found  the  fish  rising  late  in  the 
evening  in  the  river  at  the  Butcombe  Bay  end 
(the  lake  was  low  that  summer,  so  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  river  in  evidence),  covered  it  with  a  sedge 
just  as  if  it  had  been  a  Kennet  fish,  and  landed  it 
after  a  real  hard  fight,  four  and  three-quarter 


A  Good  Corner 
at  Blagdon 


THOUGHTS   ON  BIG   FISH  169 

pounds.  I  remember  the  clock  striking  ten  as  I 
lifted  it  out  in  my  landing-net. 

This  was  a  fish  of  reasonable  shape  and  solidity, 
but  I  remember  another  big  Blagdon  trout  which 
was  less  satisfactory.  This  was  also  caught  on  a 
dry  fly.  It  had  been  found  rising  steadily  just 
inside  a  clump  of  weeds  which  was  within  easy 
casting  distance  of  the  bank.  It  was  feeding  in 
the  very  deliberate  manner  which  is  suggestive  of  a 
heavy  trout,  and  when  after  some  time  I  persuaded 
it  to  take  a  fly — a  hackle-fly  not  unlike  the  brown 
silverhorns  that  were  about  in  plenty — I  expected 
something  extra  special  in  the  way  of  a  battle. 
The  result  was  surprising.  The  hooked  fish  hardly 
resisted  at  all,  gave  a  feeble  waggle  or  two,  and  then 
allowed  itself  to  be  towed  ashore.  The  reason  for 
this  was  plain  then — it  was  very  badly  deformed. 
Though  it  had  the  length  and  framework  of  a  big 
one,  it  also  had  a  double  spinal  curvature,  and,  as 
might  be  expected,  was  anything  but  athletic,  and 
poorly  nourished  to  boot.  The  surprising  thing 
was  that  the  fish,  a  rainbow,  had  been  able,  despite 
physical  disabilities  which  must  have  attended  it 
from  the  fry  stage,  to  live  and  grow  to  a  weight  of 
nearly  three  pounds. 

Rainbows  are  rather  apt  to  be  disappointing  on 
the  scales  because  of  their  short  life  and  their 


170  TROUT  FISHING 

tendency  to  deteriorate  at  an  age  when  brown  trout 
would  still  be  putting  on  ounces.  I  caught  one 
once  at  Ravensthorpe  Reservoir,  the  lake  which  is 
famous  as  one  of  the  early  proofs  of  what  results 
can  be  got  from  trout  culture  in  water  storage  lakes, 
which  was  rising  just  like  that  Blagdon  fish,  with 
heavy  deliberation  suggestive  of  great  size.  And 
it  was  a  big  fish,  or  rather  it  had  been  once.  It 
was  shaped  more  like  an  eel  than  a  trout,  and,  even 
so,  it  weighed  two  and  a  half  pounds.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  in  happier  days  it  had  been  at  least 
twice  as  heavy. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  it  has  been  my  luck  to  meet 
with  that  sort  of  fish  very  frequently,  so  an  instance 
more  or  less  no  longer  surprises  me.  I  could  wish 
that  I  was  less  favoured  with  regard  to  big  ones  of 
that  type. 

I  do  not  remember  ever  hooking  and  losing  the 
sort  of  trout  that  makes  history,  or  at  any  rate  the 
sort  of  trout  that  I  honestly  believed  would  have 
made  history.  I  am  not  exempt,  of  course,  from  the 
common  fisherman's  failing  of  estimating  "  the  big 
one  that  got  away  "  on  a  perhaps  too  generous 
scale.  The  biggest  trout  that  I  ever  hooked,  of 
which  I  am  certain,  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  land. 
It  came  from  the  famous  weirpool  at  Uxbridge 
and  weighed  two  ounces  under  eight  pounds.  It 
took  a  dilapidated  metal  spinning  bait  of  the  Devon 


THOUGHTS   ON  BIG  FISH  171 

type  and  gave  me  a  great  fight.  I  had  at  that  time 
never  seen  a  trout  out  of  the  water  of  anything  like 
such  a  size,  and  I  had  no  idea  what  it  would  weigh. 
Five  pounds  was  as  much  as  I  dared  to  hope  for,  so 
my  pride  and  joy  when  the  scales  at  the  keeper's 
cottage  revealed  the  truth  can  be  imagined.  It  was 
a  beautiful  fish  twenty- five  inches  long  and  with 
deep,  gleaming  flanks,  a  picture  of  an  old  Colne 
trout.  I  had  other  good  and  handsome  fish  from 
that  pool  and  the  stream  below  afterwards,  but 
nothing  to  approach  that  one.  The  biggest  was 
four  and  a  half  pounds.  Another  angler  a  few 
years  later  got  one  of  seven  and  a  quarter  pounds. 
The  Colne  has  in  its  time  yielded  a  good  many  fish 
of  about  that  size,  but  I  am  afraid  that  some  parts 
of  it  have  now  seen  their  best  days.  The  extra- 
ordinary catches  at  West  Drayton  made  during 
the  years  when  the  water  was  heavily  stocked  with 
big  fish,  suggest  that  the  river  may  yet  be  capable 
of  recovery.  The  fish  seem  to  thrive  well  enough 
in  its  lower  reaches,  though  of  course  the  Thorney 
Weir  records  are  not  due  to  the  natural  breeding 
capacities  of  the  stream. 

I  should  not  like  to  assert  positively  that  I  ever 
hooked  anything  bigger  than  the  second  trout  on 
my  list  either.  This  weighed  six  and  three-quarter 
pounds,  and  was  caught  at  Blagdon  on  a  gold- 
bodied  fly  which  has  since  done  a  good  deal  of 


172  TROUT  FISHING 

execution  on  the  lake,  and  which  Donald  Carr,  I 
believe,  christened  "  The  Field."  It  is  really  not 
much  more  than  an  elaboration  of  the  Wickham 
by  the  addition  of  a  topping  and  a  red  tail ;  but  it 
is  a  very  killing  pattern  for  big  trout  of  minnowing 
propensities.  Such  a  fish  on  my  first  day  at  Blagdon 
made  me  very  pleased  with  myself,  especially  as  it 
was  companioned  in  my  bag  by  two  others  of  four 
pounds  ten  ounces  and  three  pounds  eight  ounces. 
Another  man  got  one  of  nearly  the  same  weight  on 
that  day,  and  it  was  an  extraordinary  circumstance 
that  there  was  not  another  trout  over  six  pounds 
caught  for  some  years.  The  eight  and  nine- 
pounders,  average  weights  of  five  pounds  or  more, 
and  other  portents  that  made  Blagdon  so  famous 
all  belonged  to  the  two  seasons  before  my  first 
visit. 

Afterwards  the  weight  of  the  fish  caught  fell 
considerably,  though  latterly  it  has  been  going  up 
again.  The  big  ones  were  still  there — as  I  said 
earlier,  I  have  seen  some  of  them — but  for  some 
obscure  reason  nobody  caught  any  for  several 
seasons.  There  were  tragic  losses  each  year  though, 
and  it  may  have  been  simply  luck.  One  reason 
why  fish  used  to  be  lost  there  at  first  was  the  fact 
that  so  many  men  visited  the  lake  with  ordinary 
trout  tackle,  the  sort  of  gear  which  would  be  well 
enough  for  waters  where  the  fish  run  up  to  a  pound 


THOUGHTS   ON  BIG  FISH  173 

and  a  half  or  so,  but  which  was  no  good  for  a 
six-pounder  which  behaved  like  a  torpedo.  Gut, 
should  be  strong  for  such  a  fish,  and  there  should 
be  plenty  of  backing  on  the  reel. 

When  I  get  down  to  lesser  weights  I  can  point 
proudly  to  considerable  losses.  The  worst  certainly 
was  that  of  a  trout  which  I  hooked  on  a  dry  fly  in 
a  small  tributary  of  the  Kennet.  I  am  sure  that 
trout  was  over  five  pounds  and  he  would  have  been 
the  most  valued  of  all  my  trophies.  I  had  him  on 
for  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour,  most  of  which  he  spent 
in  a  thick  clump  of  sedges  right  at  my  feet.  He 
had  run  a  good  long  way  downstream  after  being 
hooked,  and  then  turned  into  the  sedges  and 
burrowed  well  in  before  I  realised  what  he  was 
doing.  I  tried  every  conceivable  method  of  getting 
him  out,  and  finally  endeavoured  to  tail  him — by 
wetting  my  arm  almost  to  the  shoulder  I  could  just 
manage  to  get  a  hold  on  him.  But,  alas  !  the  tail 
of  a  trout  is  not  as  that  of  a  salmon,  and  he  slipped 
through  my  grasp,  broke  the  gut,  and  was  gone.  I 
can  remember  sitting  on  a  gate  for  half  an  hour 
after  that  wondering  whether  I  should  drown  myself 
immediately  or  take  the  next  train  back  to  London, 
for  I  knew  that  I  should  never  have  another  chance 
with  that  trout,  and  I  never  did.  In  earlier  days 
there  had  been  a  hatch  of  Mayfly  on  that  little 
stream,  and  then  it  was  possible  to  look  forward 


174  TROUT  FISHING 

hopefully.  There  was  a  fish  of  just  under  four 
pounds  which  I  had  lost  three  times  in  one  season, 
and  finally  killed  on  a  Mayfly.  But  to  find  a  five- 
pounder  taking  small  flies  on  a  second  occasion 
was  beyond  expectation,  for  such  fish  are  very 
incurious  about  small  flies  as  a  rule. 

I  once  had  a  Mayfly  day  on  the  Kennet  which 
must  have  totalled  up  a  large  number  of  lost 
pounds.  It  seemed  to  my  excited  imagination 
that  I  hooked  all  the  biggest  trout  in  the  fishery 
one  after  the  other.  They  varied  from  four  pounds 
to  six  pounds.  I  do  not  think  there  was  anything 
over  six  pounds  though  I  was  quite  in  the  vein  to 
have  lost  Big  Ben  himself  had  I  been  able  to  find 
him.  Big  Ben  was  a  local  institution,  said  to 
weigh  fifteen  pounds  but  he  never  gladdened  my 
eyes  or  subsequently  filled  my  heart  with  sorrow. 
His  smaller  brethren  did  their  best,  however,  and 
I  was  quite  sufficiently  desperate  at  the  day's  end 
with  a  paltry  brace  just  over  the  limit  of  a  pound 
and  a  half  in  my  basket  and  a  long  list  of  defeats 
in  my  mind. 

Sedge  fishing  has  provided  most  of  us  with 
experience  of  trout  which  were  presumably  of 
unusual  size,  but  it  is  not  at  all  easy  to  be  certain 
even  in  one's  own  mind.  I  well  remember  a  tre- 
mendous battle  with  a  Kennet  trout  hooked  on  a 
sedge  when  it  was  nearly  dark.  That  fish  took  me 


THOUGHTS   ON  BIG  FISH  175 

downstream  for  quite  300  yards  and  felt  like  a 
salmon  the  whole  way.  Had  I  lost  him  at  the  end 
of  it  I  should  unhesitatingly  have  put  him  down  as 
seven  pounds  at  least.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he 
weighed  three  pounds  five  ounces  and  proved  to 
have  been  hooked  in  one  of  the  ventral  fins.  For 
that  reason  I  have  never  liked  to  be  too  positive 
about  trout  which  have  got  off  after  being  hooked 
in  the  late  evening.  But  I  have  twice  had  to  do 
with  fish  that  felt  as  the  Kennet  fish,  and  for  a 
considerable  time  had  me  absolutely  helpless  to 
stop  or  turn  them  on  their  downward  course.  One 
was  in  the  Itchen  and  the  other  in  the  Test,  and 
both  made  nothing  of  a  powerful  rod  and  strong  gut. 
Both  got  off  before  I  had  a  chance  of  seeing  them. 
I  have  had  one  similar  contest  besides  in  the  Itchen, 
but  that  was  in  daylight,  and  I  was,  and  am,  pretty 
sure  that  the  fish  was  a  huge  grayling;  there  were 
known  to  be  several  very  big  ones  at  the  spot  where 
it  was  hooked. 

Except  in  southern  waters  I  have  had  very  little 
experience  of  big  trout,  and  I  have  never  had  the 
luck  to  catch  anything  out  of  the  common  on 
mountain  streams  or  lakes  when  I  have  been 
definitely  fishing  for  trout.  I  have  had  a  few 
relatively  big  ones  when  salmon  fishing.  Once  I 
got  hold  of  one  of  those  old  stagers  for  which  the 
Coquet  is  famous.  I  thought  it  was  a  grilse  when  it 


176  TROUT  FISHING 

fastened  at  the  end  of  a  long  line,  but  after  quite  a 
respectable  fight,  considering  the  sixteen-foot  rod 
and  salmon  gut,  I  pulled  in  a  big  brown  trout  of  at 
least  four  pounds.  Fortunately — it  was  in  October 
—he  was  lightly  hooked  and  kicked  himself  off, 
so  the  experience  cannot  have  done  him  any  harm. 
Had  I  got  him  out  I  should  have  been  tempted  to 
weigh  him,  and  that  might  not  have  improved  his 
health  so  near  the  spawning  time. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN    A    WELSH   VALLEY 

To  the  convinced  trout  fisher  it  is  not  essential 
to  have  a  constant  succession  of  red-letter  days  or 
to  keep  up  a  two-pound  average.  No  one  esteems 
either  benefit  more  than  I,  but  I  can  manage  to  get 
along  quite  happily  without  them,  and  so  can  the 
rest  of  the  little  company  which  assembles  year  by 
year  on  the  bank  of  the  small  Welsh  river,  mentioned 
already  more  than  once  in  these  pages,  which  I 
always  call  the  Penydwddwr.  It  is  now  some 
years  since  we  were  all  together  there — war  has 
upset  many  a  good  old  custom — but  odd  members 
of  the  party  have  been  there  at  some  time  or  other 
since  1914,  and  now  that  it  is  possible  to  look  forward 
again,  great  plans  are  being  laid  for  a  united  descent 
upon  the  well-loved  valley. 

The  Penydwddwr  is  a  typical  Welsh  trout  stream, 
that  is  to  say  a  typical  upland  trout  stream.  So  far 
as  I  have  visited  them  I  have  found  very  little 
difference  between  the  mountain  streams  of  any 
part  of  the  kingdom.  Even  the  variation  in  the 
size  of  the  trout  which  is  noticeable  is,  I  think,  more 

N  177 


178  TROUT  FISHING 

a  matter  of  a  stream's  normal  development  than  of 
any  special  characteristics.  The  further  a  river  runs 
from  its  rocky  beginnings  the  richer  the  land  through 
which  it  winds,  and,  in  consequence,  the  more 
bounteous  its  food-supplies  and  the  fatter  its  trout. 
Some  of  the  famous  mountain  streams,  such  as  the 
Usk  or  the  Don,  have  a  greater  proportion  of  rich 
land  to  their  mileage  than  others  which  produce 
smaller  trout. 

But  even  some  of  the  barrenest  rivers  may  have 
their  fertile  reaches.  Nothing,  I  should  say,  could 
well  be  more  suggestive  of  an  eight-to-the-pound 
average  than  the  top  part  of  the  Cumberland  Der- 
went.  In  a  solid  week's  fishing  round  about 
Seathwaite  I  think  I  only  got  one  trout  which 
exceeded  six  ounces.  That  was  some  twenty  years 
ago,  but  I  do  not  suppose  that  conditions  have 
altered  since  then.  Lower  down,  however,  it  is 
a  very  different  story.  One  day  below  Cocker  mouth 
a  few  years  back  I  got  a  dozen  trout  which  averaged 
half  a  pound,  and  I  heard  of  a  catch  of  a  dozen  or 
more  which  averaged  over  one  pound.  The  lower 
Derwent  is  naturally  rich  in  fly  and  on  the  day 
recorded  I  saw  the  biggest  hatch  of  iron  blues  that 
has  ever  gladdened  my  eyes.  Of  course  I  had  no 
such  thing  as  an  iron  blue  in  my  fly-book,  and  I  had 
to  make  shift  with  the  darkest  hackle-fly  I  could  find. 
It  served  fairly  well,  but  if  I  had  had  some  real  iron 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  179 

blues  I  might  have  caught  some  bigger  fish  and  more 
of  them.  I  never  saw  trout  rise  with  more  enthu- 
siasm for  an  hour  or  so. 

I  have  not  had  enough  opportunities  to  be  didactic 
about  it,  but  I  fancy  that  wet-fly  streams,  and  parts 
of  them,  could  be  divided  into  about  three  classes 
so  far  as  the  size  of  fish  is  concerned  :  (a)  The  very 
barren,  rocky  streams  and  parts  where  seven  or 
eight  fish  would  be  needed  to  weigh  a  pound  and 
where  the  exceptional  half-pounders  have  big  heads 
and  long  lean  bodies,  (b)  The  normal  streams  and 
parts  where  a  five  to  the  pound  average  is  to  be 
expected.  Here  the  half-pounder  is  better  shaped 
and  looks  less  of  a  cannibal,  (c)  The  rich  streams 
and  parts  where  the  average  goes  up  to  three  to  the 
pound,  and  where  you  may  expect  a  sprinkling  of 
pounders,  and  may  hope  for  an  occasional  fish  of 
two  pounds  or  even  more. 

The  Penydwddwr,  where  I  know  it,  belongs  to  the 
normal  class,  and  it  is  not  so  lavish  of  its  half- 
pounders  as  to  make  us  blase  in  regard  to  them. 
We  have,  in  fact,  in  that  valley  a  very  proper 
respect  for  a  half-pounder.  Indeed,  the  word 
"  respect  "  is  scarcely  adequate.  You  really  ought 
to  hear  Caradoc  tell  the  story  which  takes  him  cast 
by  cast  to  the  very  top  of  the  run  below  the  bluff, 
and  which  ends  with  two  leaps,  one  despai  r,  and  the 
words  "  a  real  big  fish,  my  dear  fellow,  half  a  pound." 


180  TROUT  FISHING 

Having  heard  this,  you  will  understand  how  it  is 
with  us,  with  Caradoc,  with  the  schoolmaster,  with 
the  ornithologist,  with  the  angler  to  whom  I  must 
make  only  the  most  distant  reference,  and  with  me. 
And  those  others,  the  estimable  folk  who  inhabit 
the  same  inn  with  us,  also  appreciate  a  half-pounder. 
They  know  how  long  and  broad  and  deep  and  thick 
he  feels  when  you  lay  an  eager  hand  on  him  in  the 
meshes  of  the  landing-net.  Persons  who  only  fish 
in  chalk  streams  have  no  inkling  of  the  merits  of 
half-pounders.  "  Just  not  sizeable  "  is  a  poor  way 
in  which  to  speak  of  fishes  which  make  Caradoc 
arise  early  in  the  morning,  pedagogues  forget  the 
Greek  for  "  strike,"  bird-men  accept  a  statement 
that  a  cuckoo  in  winter  turns  into  a  hawk.  All 
which  strange  things  I  have,  so  to  speak,  watched 
happening. 

One  spring  we  had  a  drought  and  then  it  was 
lamentable  but  true  that  half-pounders  did  not 
happen  at  all,  not  the  real,  unquestionable,  eight- 
ounce-to-the-half-pound  creatures  which  alone  pass 
the  severe  inspection  of  Ap  Evan.  I  did  all  that  I 
could  in  the  way  of  asseveration  for  a  seven-ounce 
specimen  brought  back  one  evening  by  the  rod 
fourth  on  my  list.  If  that  were  not  a  half-pounder, 
then  might  I  never  behold  half-pounders  more— 
and  so  on.  But  it  was  all  no  use.  Seven  ounces 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  181 

were  all  that  Ap  Evan  and  the  scales  would  concede 
when  it  came  to  the  ultimate  test. 

We  had,  for  sheer  self-respect,  to  fall  back  on  the 
classification  method,  invented  I  believe  by  the 
bird-man  in  one  of  his  inspired  moments.  By  that 
device  you  really  can  catch  some  half-pounders  in 
the  Penydwddwr,  and  it  is  an  ill  day  on  which  you 
do  not  have  at  least  one.  It  is  quite  a  scientific 
plan  of  grouping  your  fish  into  growth-classes  rather 
than  labelling  each  one  with  pedantic  minuteness. 
You  find  something  like  it  in  Blue  Books.  By  this 
method  "  half-pounder  "  is  a  group  term  inclusive 
of  all  grades  of  fish  from  six  and  a  quarter  ounces  to 
eight  ounces.  The  next  group  contains  "  big  fish," 
which  may  vary  from  four  and  three-quarter  ounces 
to  six  and  a  quarter  ounces.  Then  come  the  quarter- 
pounders,  inclusive,  of  course,  of  "  rising  "  quarter- 
pounders.  Decent  fish  follow,  separated  by  some 
little  margin  from  "  breakfast  "  fish.  And  lastly 
the  bird-man  rose  superior  to  the  droughts  and 
dearth  of  that  hard  time  with  "  visible  "  fish.  It 
was  a  handy  new  group  and  generally  approved. 

The  river  was  lower  than  it  possibly  could  be 
when  we  got  there  and  it  went  on  dwindling  for  a 
solid  week.  Daily  we  went  out  with  less  hope  of 
doing  anything,  and  daily  we  came  in  justified  of 
our  expectations.  Even  "  visible  "  fish  were  loth 


182  TROUT  FISHING 

to  rise,  while  all  others  became  events.  "  Did  you 
do  anything  on  the  long  flat  ?  "  one  would  ask.  To 
which  another  would  reply,  "  Yes,  I  had  quite  a 
brisk  bit  of  sport  there.  Got  two  breakfast  fish, 
and  lost  a  real  big  one,  a  quarter-pounder  at  least." 
The  "  big  one  which  got  away "  was,  I  think, 
unusually  prominent  that  year.  He  afflicted  me 
personally  to  a  grievous  extent. 

Perhaps  the  worst  experience  was  with  the 
detestable  button  on  the  sleeve  of  Caradoc's  mackin- 
tosh. It  was  on  the  last  day  of  all,  when  we  really 
had  had  a  nice  drop  of  rain  and  the  river  was  in 
grand  order.  In  quite  a  short  time  during  the 
morning  I  had  accumulated  five  handsome  fish,  of 
which  two  were  half-pounders  by  the  class  test. 
But  then  trouble  began,  for  the  wind  uprose  and 
beat  the  rain  on  my  glasses,  no  fish  stirred,  I  lost 
half  a  cast  and  both  the  flies,  and  generally  things 
went  wrong.  Just  as  I  was  getting  desperate  I 
hooked  a  fine  trout,  and  my  spirits  went  up  with  a 
bound.  He  played  fast  and  far,  but  I  was  his 
master.  That  trout,  half-pounder  though  he  might 
be,  was  as  good  as  in  the  basket.  I  felt  with  un- 
hurried left  hand  for  the  net  in  the  sling,  meanwhile 
drawing  the  trout  downstream.  And  then  the 
button  on  the  sleeve  saw  fit  to  catch  in  the  meshes 
of  the  net,  and  in  a  flash  my  mastery  was  gone. 
Not  only  could  I  not  get  the  net  out;  I  could  not 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  183 

even  free  my  left  hand.  So  in  due  course  the  trout 
kicked  himself  off,  leaving  me  alone  with  the  wind 
and  the  rain  and  the  conviction  that  all  was  over. 
I  do  not  wish  to  blame  Caradoc  in  any  way — after 
all,  he  had  kindly  lent  me  the  garment,  and  that  it 
failed  to  keep  the  rain  out  was  not  his  fault — but 
I  do  blame  the  button.  Anglers  ought  to  tie 
themselves  together  with  tapes  or  string,  not 
imperil  their  immortal  souls  by  the  use  of  buttons. 
The  chub  also  lost  me  a  fine  trout  the  day  before 
by  swinging  about  my  legs  and  nearly  upsetting  me 
at  the  critical  moment.  I  had  better  explain  the 
chub.  There  were  nine  of  them,  weighing  from 
about  three-quarters  of  a  pound  to  a  pound  and 
a  half,  and  they  were  the  fruits  of  an  amusing  hour 
or  so  at  the  pool  by  the  wall.  The  custom  of  the 
river  is,  I  believe,  to  kill  chub  in  the  most  violent 
manner  possible,  and  then  to  kick  them  about  the 
landscape,  cursing  as  you  kick.  Truly  chub  are  not 
wanted  in  a  small  trout  stream,  but  I  have  an 
affection  for  those  despised  fish,  and  besides  nine 
of  them  made  a  brave  show  and  might  be  valued 
by  some  poor  body.  So,  since  they  were  too  big 
and  many  for  my  little  creel,  I  slung  them  on  a 
leather  bootlace  presented  to  me  for  other  purposes 
by  the  schoolmaster,  and  slung  that  to  the  landing- 
net  sling.  An  uncommon  nuisance  they  were, 
eleven  or  twelve  pounds  of  them  a-dangle,  and  as 


184  TROUT  FISHING 

I  have  said,  they  nearly  upset  me  when  I  was  playing 
the  best  trout  of  the  day.  After  that  I  declined  to 
be  burdened  with  them  more,  dragged  them  to  the 
nearest  roadway,  and  there  left  them,  in  the  hope 
that  the  not  impossible  poor  body  would  find  them 
for  himself.  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  this 
happened,  for  next  day  the  chub  were  gone.  It 
may  have  been  that  the  poor  body  coveted  the 
bootlace.  One  never  knows. 

The  gravel  bed  caused  us  all  bad  quarters  of  an 
hour  from  time  to  time  that  spring.  The  gravel 
bed  is  an  inferior  sort  of  fly  which  appears  in  vast 
numbers  and  makes  the  trout  go  half  mad — not 
quite  mad — just  not  so  mad  as  to  take  any  sort  of 
artificial  fly.  Ap  Evan  had  two  counsels  for  coping 
with  the  gravel  bed  rise.  One  was  to  use  something 
else,  as  a  March  brown  or  half  stone.  The  other 
was  to  give  the  affair  up  as  hopeless.  My  feeling 
is  that  he  thought  more  highly  of  the  second  plan. 
Yet  people  do  catch  trout  during  gravel  bed  rises; 
and  some  describe  the  opportunity  afforded  by  them 
as  a  thing  not  to  be  missed.  All  I  know  is  that  we 
made  nothing  of  the  business.  Some  of  us  even- 
so  it  was  reported — danced  with  rage  at  seeing 
so  many  and  so  big  trout  moving  without  being 
able  to  catch  them.  It  was  a  new  experience  to  see 
trout  moving  in  numbers  in  the  Penydwddwr.  It 
was  a  new  experience  also  to  see  abundance  of  fly, 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  185 

not  only  gravel  bed,  but  also  March  browns  and  the 
spinners  thereof,  besides  smaller  kinds.  And  it  was 
new  also  to  have  warm  weather.  If  only  there  had 
been  a  decent  quantity  of  water  !  But  the  water 
came  as  our  time  was  practically  up.  'Tis  ever  thus. 
I  have  said  that  there  were  no  genuine  half- 
pounders.  Nor  were  there,  but  one  evening  we 
were  all  staggered  to  behold  a  trout  of  some  fourteen 
inches'  length  which  weighed  within  a  trifle  of  a 
whole  pound.  It  was  a  portent,  and  we  stood  in  a 
dumb  row  before  it,  wondering  how  such  a  thing 
might  be.  It  had  been  hooked  in  a  fin,  moreover, 
and  had  kept  its  captor  in  play  for  some  ten  minutes. 
You  might  go  to  Penydwddwr  many  times  without 
seeing  such  another.  But  you  might  see  my  three- 
and-a-half -pounder  in  the  big  flat  if  you  looked 
close.  I  saw  him  one  evening  and  came  home  and 
talked  about  him  at  length,  not  unmindful  of  the 
proverb  about  "  having  lived  near  the  rose."  On 
the  whole,  I  did  well  out  of  the  incident.  It  was 
unlucky  that  I  should  see  him  again  a  day  or  so 
after.  I  found  that  while  men  slept  he  had  turned 
into  a  chub.  People  laugh  easily  at  Penydwddwr. 
I  had  made  similar  little  mistakes  there  before.  I 
question  whether  honesty  is  invariably  the  best 
policy.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  had  some  one  else 
discovered  the  truth  they  would  have  laughed 
more.  Perhaps  honesty  stands  where  it  did. 


186  TROUT  FISHING 

The  most  remarkable  incident  of  the  expedition 
was  the  humour  of  the  bird.  It  pounced  down 
upon  the  artificial  fly  of  one  of  the  anglers.  That 
was  no  uncommon  thing.  It  had  happened  to  me 
often.  But  I  had  never  before  heard  of  a  fowl  with 
such  a  sense  of  fun  that,  having  seized  the  fly,  it 
would  carry  it  to  the  top  of  a  tree  and  leave  it  there. 
If  any  should  doubt,  we  were  told  that  the  fly  was 
there  yet,  and  half  a  cast  with  it,  and  that  any  one 
might  prove  the  matter  by  climbing. 

Another  spring  visit  to  the  Penydwddwr  Arms 
was  spoilt  by  an  exactly  opposite  condition  of 
affairs,  due,  it  was  supposed,  to  comets,  of  which 
there  had  been  much  talk.  We  had  many  trials 
that  year.  Apart  from  the  weather,  we  found  that 
the  local  farmers  had  had  a  burst  of  energy  and  had 
been  consolidating  their  fences.  We  spent  a  good 
deal  of  time  extricating  ourselves  from  the  traps 
they  had  set,  and  it  was  a  warmly  discussed  problem 
why  barbed  wire  was  necessary  as  a  lining  to  trout 
streams,  in  some  places  reinforcing  stout  hedges 
and  serviceable  railings,  and  whether,  as  one  angler 
gloomily  opined,  it  had  been  arranged  with  one 
eye  on  beasts  and  the  other  on  fishermen. 

The  Welsh  farmer  is  not  invariably  sympathetic. 
Nor  are  his  bulls,  of  which  we  discovered  an  unusual 
profusion  that  year.  They  glowered  at  us  in  all 
sorts  of  unexpected  places.  Given  plenty  of  barbed 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  187 

wire,  a  river  in  half  flood  and  rising,  and  a  bull 
waiting  for  you  to  come  out  of  it,  and  you  have  your 
day's  excitement  fully  provided. 

The  sort  of  weather  we  all  had  can  be  gauged  by 
the  fact  that  from  time  to  time  one  of  us  would 
rise  silently  from  his  chair  and  step  from  the  sitting- 
room  into  the  hall.  Then  would  come  the  sound 
of  hammering — the  barometer.  Our  landlord,  easy- 
going man  that  he  is,  even  he  was  moved  to  protest. 
He  said  that  the  instrument  could  not  be  expected 
to  do  its  honest  duty  when  beaten  like  that.  Where- 
upon Caradoc  told  him  the  story  of  the  irate  gentle- 
man who  threw  his  expensive  but  unresponsive 
barometer  into  the  garden  with  the  remark,  "  Go 
and  see  for  yourself,  you  beast !  "  Certainly  our 
barometer  did  very  strange  things.  It  climbed  to 
a  giddy  height,  leaped  suddenly  down  to  "  much 
rain,"  and  then  climbed  again  just  as  quickly. 
Perhaps  there  ought  to  be  a  mark  for  comets  on 
barometers. 

While  I  was  away  a  dry-fly  friend  wrote  to  ask 
why  I  was  wasting  time  over  "  Welsh  minnows," 
a  question  begotten  of  a  recent  victory  over  a  five- 
pounder  in  the  Kennet.  He  would  have  had  his 
answer  had  he  felt  the  thrill  that  I  felt  on  the  one 
satisfactory  day  when  waist-deep  in  the  chub  pool 
I  saw  that  I  had  hooked,  not  after  all  a  chub,  as  I 
feared,  but  a  veritable  trout  of  great  size.  He 


188  TROUT  FISHING 

weighed  half  a  pound,  a  real  half  pound,  and  the  joy 
that  seized  me  when  I  saw  him,  to  be  followed  by 
immediate  quaking  lest  he  might  get  off,  was 
certainly  no  less  than  that  which  was  mine  at  Mayfly 
time  when  a  supposed  chub  proved  to  be  a  noble 
Kennet  trout  of  three  and  a  half  pounds.  In  the 
evening  I  got  another  half-pounder  in  the  same  pool, 
and  the  brace  will  live  long  in  my  memory,  if  only 
for  the  effectual  manner  in  which  they  enabled  me 
to  answer  Caradoc,  who  also  had  one,  and  was 
prematurely  jubilant  over  it. 

One  day,  rendered  desperate  by  the  weather, 
I  angled  with  worm  in  a  flood  and  tore  out  several 
unfortunate  trout  by  brute  force.  Time  was  when 
I  thought  worming  in  pea-soup  eddies  the  height  of 
bliss,  and  I  was  curious  to  see  if  the  glamour  of 
youth  could  be  recaptured.  There  is  a  moment 
— I  have  before  confessed  it — when  you  live  at  this 
business,  the  moment  in  which  you  feel  the  first 
twitch  at  the  line  as  a  trout  essays  the  worm.  Nor 
will  I  deny  that  the  four  quarter-pounders  which  I 
got  out  of  the  little  channel  below  the  mill-wheel 
gave  me  pleasure,  nor  that,  as  the  six  ounce  fish 
fell  back,  I  lived  once  more  some  of  the  old  agony. 
These  things  I  confess.  But  there  came  a  moment 
when  I  was  conscious  of  blood  and  slime,  and  that 
I  was  engaged  on  a  very  black  venture.  And, 
moreover,  I  had  no  half-pounder.  So  I  put  away 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  189 

worms  and  fished  to  no  purpose  with  a  Devon 
minnow.  We  had  that  day  a  hailstorm  which  gave 
me  a  cold.  It  was  incredibly  fierce  and  chilled  me 
to  the  marrow,  so  that  I  had  to  go  home  to  get 
early  tea  and  warmth. 

On  the  last  day  of  that  visit  I  had  a  useful  lesson 
in  humility.  The  "  local  expert "  had  always 
appeared  to  me  an  overrated  person.  In  London 
I  had  ventured  to  state  in  conversation  that  he  was 
not  likely  to  be  much  more  successful  than  any 
visitor  of  reasonable  skill.  I  had  to  retract  all  that. 
I  toiled  exceedingly  all  that  cold  day,  struggled 
with  an  abominable  wind,  fished,  methought,  very 
well  considering,  and  returned  at  tea  time  with 
eleven  fish,  convinced  that  all  that  man  could  do  in 
the  way  of  tempting  sulky  trout  had  been  done  by 
me  and  that  my  basket  represented  the  limit  of 
possibility.  But  I  found  that  Ap  Evan  had  been 
out  and  between  about  half-past  one  and  four  had 
captured  some  two  dozen  very  nice  fish,  all  with 
the  March  brown,  a  fly  which  had  caught  me  nothing 
at  all.  The  fact  is  that  local  experts  are  very  fine 
fellows ;  we  visitors  are  nought. 

The  biggest  fish  I  caught  at  all  was,  oddly  enough, 
a  dace  of  nine  ounces,  a  fish  which,  so  far  as  I  could 
learn,  had  never  been  caught  there  before,  though 
chub  are  fairly  plentiful.  I  saw  it  rise  at  the  tail 
of  a  long  flat,  and  put  my  tail  fly  over  it  dry.  The 


190  TROUT  FISHING 

disappointment  of  finding  that  it  was  not  a  good 
trout  was  somewhat  mitigated  by  the  interest  of 
its  identity.  I  think  it  was  envy  which  made  certain 
persons  asseverate  that  it  was  a  chub,  in  defiance  of 
all  the  indications  of  shape  and  fins.  The  oddest 
experience  I  had  was  being  spectator  of  an  affray 
between  a  sparrowhawk  and  two  thrushes.  I  was 
knee-deep  in  a  quiet  pool  when  I  suddenly  became 
aware  of  a  commotion  in  the  hedge  that  bordered 
the  water  on  the  left  bank,  of  great  fluttering,  out- 
cry, and  flying  of  feathers,  all  not  five  yards  from 
me.  It  proved  that  the  hawk  was  attacking  a 
thrush,  probably  on  its  nest.  Then  the  thrush's 
mate  arrived  in  a  hurry,  and  some  further  battle 
ended  with  one  bird's  flying  away  with  the  hawk  in 
pursuit  and  the  other's  vanishing,  perhaps  following 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge.  I  hope  the  hawk 
got  defeated,  but  events  passed  beyond  my  ken. 

The  most  vivid  realisation  of  Penydwddwr  as  a 
place  unspoilt  and  good  to  be  in  perhaps  came  when 
I  conversed  with  the  friendly  policeman.  Comets 
and  aeroplanes  were  the  topics,  and  then  he  told  me 
about  the  balloon.  It  passed  over  the  district  one 
misty  day,  to  the  unqualified  terror  of  the  inhabi- 
tants, who  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  such  a  thing. 
Flying  low,  it  almost  grazed  the  hill  beyond  the 
river,  and  a  lonely  shepherd  caught  sight  of  a  rope 
hanging  from  the  miraculous  bird  or  whatever 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  191 

it  might  be.  This,  running,  he  vainly  tried  to  seize 
and  fell  flat.  And  as  he  fell  to  his  horrified  amaze 
he  heard  mocking  laughter  from  the  skies.  Wonder 
was  not  dead  then,  though  even  at  Penydwddwr 
they  must  now  be  used  to  men  who  travel  with 
the  clouds. 

The  last  visit  I  paid  to  Penydwddwr  was  shortly 
before  the  war,  and  it  was  at  an  unaccustomed  time 
of  year.  The  fact  was  that  I  had  heard  of  salmon 
there  if  one  was  on  the  spot  during  August  floods, 
and  it  struck  me  that  a  salmon  or  two  a  day  from 
those  little  pools  would  be  very  pleasant  amusement. 
So  it  would  be  if  it  ever  happened,  but  so  far  as  I 
could  judge  it  does  not  happen. 

Caradoc,  who  exhibited  symptoms  of  jealousy 
when  he  heard  I  was  going,  said,  "  I  told  you  so,"  as 
soon  as  I  had  returned.  For  I  had  to  confess  that 
the  expedition,  from  the  point  of  view  which  regards 
heaps  of  slain  fishes  as  the  summum  bonum,  had  not 
been  a  complete  success.  Not  that  I  would  impute 
such  a  point  of  view  to  Caradoc.  In  the  spring 
we  do  not  pile  our  fishes  in  heaps.  We  say  that  we 
do  not  like  our  fishes  so,  that  a  few  trout,  and  those 
good  ones,  are  what  we  prefer.  And  we  get  the  few 
trout  all  right,  while  as  to  goodness  I  never  met 
any  that  were  better  on  a  breakfast  table.  There 
are,  be  it  noted,  different  kinds  of  goodness  which 
trout  may  have.  An  ability  to  stretch  head  and 


192  TROUT  FISHING 

tail  beyond  a  dish  does  not  exhaust  the  cardinal 
virtues. 

Accustomed  to  the  Penydwddwr  of  spring,  I  was 
astonished  and  saddened  at  the  stream  which 
greeted  our  eyes  on  arrival.  The  Colonial,  who  was 
one  of  my  companions  and  who  has  since  eschewed 
my  company  on  fishing  holidays,  was  of  opinion 
that  it  would  be  rather  like  the  thing  called  "  a 
creek,"  only  the  creeks  where  he  came  from  had 
water  in  them  which  ran  along.  (I  shall  never  get 
quite  reconciled  to  the  notion  of  Greater  Britain  that 
a  creek  is  a  small  stream,  a  burn  or  beck ;  to  me  the 
word  always  suggests  a  convenient  ditch  by  the 
Thames  into  which  you  can  run  your  punt.)  Closer 
inspection  showed  us  that  the  Penydwddwr  was 
moving  along,  for  "  even  the  weariest  river  winds 
somewhere  safe  to  sea,"  but  it  was  patent  that  the 
fishing  would  be  nought  until  what  the  third  member 
of  the  party  called  the  "  great  rains  "  should  come. 
As  for  the  fourteen -foot  and  sixteen-foot  rods  which 
formed  part  of  my  armament,  they  were  as  out  of 
place  by  the  attenuated  stream  as  a  racing  eight 
would  have  been  upon  it.  I  took  them,  blushing, 
and  hid  them  in  a  corner. 

Then  we  composed  ourselves  to  await  the  great 
rains.  There  were  kingfishers,  herons,  and  other 
birds  to  be  seen  daily  on  the  stream.  In  the  little 
wood  behind  the  garden  were  three  brown  owls, 


A  place  for 
"Breakfast"  Fish 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  193 

of  which  we  could  generally  obtain  a  view  by  going 
cautiously  to  look  for  them.  Their  large  round 
eyes  would  look  down  at  us  reproachfully  from  the 
upper  branches,  and  their  large  round  bodies  would 
sooner  or  later  remove  noisily  to  a  less  visible  perch. 
I  got  the  impression  that,  nocturnal  though  they  be, 
brown  owls  can  see  quite  well  enough  in  the  day 
time  to  serve  all  their  necessities. 

In  the  roadway  before  the  inn  door  commonly 
strutted  an  important  turkey  cock.  I  was  privi- 
leged to  behold  this  bird  in  two  sets  of  circumstances 
of  delightful  contrast.  A  little  lady  emerged  from 
the  inn  one  day.  She  wore  a  red  tie,  but  had  about 
her  no  other  sign  of  fierceness  or  offence.  Suddenly 
across  the  road  came  a  resonant  gobble,  and  the 
big  bird  came  purposefully  from  the  farmyard, 
giving  his  opinion  as  he  came.  "  What  a  funny 
bird,"  was  the  amused  greeting  he  received,  as  he 
stalked  majestically  on.  Amusement,  however, 
gave  place  to  hesitation,  for  he  came  closer  and 
closer,  and  his  gobbling  waxed  louder  and  louder. 
And  the  next  thing  was  a  vision  of  flying  skirts — the 
red  tie  and  its  wearer  were  gone,  and  the  turkey 
was  alone  in  his  glory. 

On  the  other  occasion  from  out  the  door  came  not 
a  lady,  but  an  eight-weeks-old  black  spaniel  puppy. 
This  waddling  atom  saw  the  dignified  bird  but  two 
yards  away.  To  see  was  to  act,  and  we  had  the 


194  TROUT  FISHING 

inestimable  privilege  of  beholding  a  turkey  hunt 
conducted  by  a  pack  of  one.  Nothing  could  have 
been  more  ludicrous  than  the  ignominious  flight  of 
so  large  a  bird  before  so  small  and  round  a  pursuer. 

Besides  birds  there  was  a  rich  vegetable  world 
to  study.  Development  seemed  to  be  a  month 
later  than  in  the  south,  and  the  meadows  were  rich 
with  hay  and  with  some  of  the  flowers  which  had 
greeted  me  in  Hampshire  in  June.  The  lanes 
winding  upward  to  the  moors  contained  quite  a 
store  of  wild  strawberries,  which  gave  us  an  agree- 
able kind  of  mild  hunting,  and  here  and  there  were 
wild  raspberries  of  excellent  flavour.  Of  an  evening, 
too,  there  was  occasionally  an  Eisteddfod  to  which 
one  listened  out  of  the  window.  Several  really 
beautiful  voices  well  maintained  the  reputation  of 
Wales  for  folk  music. 

This,  of  course,  is  not  fishing,  but  I  am  not  sure 
whether  our  actual  efforts  with  the  rod  were  much 
better  deserving  of  the  name.  We  frankly  pottered, 
limiting  our  ambitions  to  getting  enough  trout  for 
breakfast,  and  occasionally  making  a  raid  on  the 
chub.  Here  I  have  an  observation  on  gratitude  to 
make.  It  had  struck  me  that  the  Colonial  was 
getting  "  kind  of  homesick."  He  did  not  consider 
the  Penydwddwr  a  real  creek — in  real  creeks  you 
can,  it  appears,  catch  brook  trout  in  dozens  on  No.  6 
flies,  and  you  take  them  home  on  a  string — and  his 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  195 

baskets  had  been  light.  "  What  you  must  do," 
I  said,  "  is  to  have  a  go  for  the  chub."  "  What  are 
chub?"  he  asked  without  enthusiasm.  "Chub 

are "  I  hesitated  for  a  comparison — "  I  know. 

Chub  are  just  like  squaw  fish." 

His  eye  brightened.  The  good  old  squaw  fish — 
it  was  like  a  message  from  home,  though,  I  have 
gathered  from  his  conversation,  at  home  the  squaw 
fish  is  not  exactly  a  prized  trophy,  but  contrariwise. 
Anyhow,  I  had  rekindled  hope  in  his  breast,  and  he 
had  a  go  for  the  chub. 

That  evening  I  returned  to  find  that  he  had 
captured  a  really  considerable  chub,  a  fish  of  nearly 
three  pounds,  which  is  big  for  the  Penydwddwr. 
Was  he  pleased  ?  He  was  not.  He  thought  meanly 
of  the  chub.  He  spoke  meanly  of  it.  He  regarded 
the  escape  of  just  such  another  not  as  a  misfortune, 
but  as  an  incident  of  no  importance.  Didn't  they 
fight  ?  No,  not  worth  naming.  Weren't  they  like 
squaw  fish  ?  No — gloomily — squaw  fish  had  teeth. 
And  he  was  not  a  bit  impressed  by  the  chub's  throat 
teeth,  as  described.  Altogether  the  matter  turned 
out  disappointingly,  and  it  was  not  long  after  when 
the  Colonial  "  hit  the  ties,"  "  boarded  the  cars," 
or  whatever  Greater  Britain  calls  going  by  train,  and 
went  off  to  London  to  see  about  some  "  real  estate," 
or  "  preemptions,"  or  "  town  lots,"  or  something. 
Nor  did  he  return. 


196  TROUT  FISHING 

Meanwhile  I  went  on  waiting  for  the  great  rains. 
Not  a  drop  was  granted  to  us,  though  clouds  appeared 
promisingly  on  several  occasions,  and  though  once 
we  even  heard  the  rumble  of  thunder  in  the  hills. 
For  the  most  part  we  had  blazing,  windless  days, 
and  it  was  only  by  dry  fly  in  shady  corners  or  by 
drop-minnow  in  the  deeps  that  I  could  extract  a 
few  trout  while  the  light  was  strong.  Now  and  then 
I  went  out,  and  caught  breakfast  between  dusk  and 
dark,  a  dragging  of  big  flies  which  involves  little 
skill  and  some  alarms.  The  riverside  at  night  is 
an  unfamiliar  place,  full  of  queer  shapes  and  uncanny 
noises.  On  the  whole  I  did  not  do  so  badly  con- 
sidering. Though  the  trout  were  few,  and  to  be 
counted  by  the  brace  rather  than  by  the  dozen,  they 
ran  to  a  better  size  than  they  do  in  spring.  Then  I 
have  found  the  average  size  on  a  decent  day  to  be 
under  four  ounces.  On  this  last  visit  the  trout 
I  caught  averaged  between  five  and  six  ounces, 
and  a  fair  proportion  nearly  or  quite  reached 
the  half  pound.  Moreover,  there  were  the  chub, 
of  which  I  took  toll  daily,  and  with  which  I  had 
plenty  of  fun.  Chub  in  a  low,  clear  mountain 
stream  require  a  lot  of  stalking,  and  the  sport  was 
not  to  be  despised. 

There  was  also  one  salmon  which  took  a  shrimp, 
and  a  few  other  salmon  which  would  not  take  any- 
thing. Only  the  first  deserves  more  than  passing 


IN  A  WELSH  VALLEY  197 

notice,  and  he,  not  because  he  was  caught,  but 
because  he  took  at  all.  He  was  lying  in  less  than 
four  feet  of  water  near  the  bank,  and  I  was  hiding 
behind  my  own  rod,  as  a  friend  puts  it,  when  I  angled 
for  him.  He  must  have  seen  the  rod,  and  me, 
clearly,  and  yet  he  took  the  shrimp  the  moment  it 
came  near  him.  If  only  we  had  had  rain,  even  a 
little  rain,  to  freshen  things  up,  I  believe  some  of  his 
fellows  would  have  proved  equally  accommodating. 
But  we  had  no  rain.  If  I  live  to  be  a  very  old  man 
and  visit  Penydwddwr  twice  or  thrice  a  year,  I  have 
hopes  of  some  day  getting  the  right  conditions  for 
fishing.  Then  it  would  be  something  uncommonly 
like  Paradise. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  DUFFER'S  FORTNIGHT 

IT  begins  somewhere  about  June  1 — maybe  a 
little  earlier,  maybe  a  little  later,  according  to  local 
circumstances  and  the  nature  of  the  season.  A 
warm  spell  may  hasten  it  a  little,  though  it  does  not 
seem  so  certain  that  a  cold  spell  will  delay  it  much 
beyond  the  date  which  custom  has  ordained  for  its 
beginning.  At  any  rate,  it  will  probably  not  delay 
the  duffer,  whatever  it  does  to  his  fortnight,  and  he 
will  be  anxiously  expecting  his  opportunity  on  a 
given  day  every  year.  "  Duffer's  fortnight  "  is  not 
at  all  a  bad  name  for  the  Mayfly  carnival,  though  it 
needs  a  somewhat  more  elastic  interpretation  than 
has  usually  been  given  to  it.  Presumably  it  was 
first  so  called  because  of  an  impression  that  when  the 
Mayfly  was  on  the  duffer  could  show  himself  an 
angler.  The  origin  of  the  expression  is  lost  in  the 
mist  of  antiquity,  so  it  is  unsafe  to  assert  too  con- 
fidently that  it  was  not  so  in  those  days.  Perhaps 
it  was  so.  The  veriest  bungler  may  then  have 
been  able  to  fill  his  creel,  and  his  pockets,  and  carry 
the  residuum  of  three-pounders  slung  on  a  withy 

198 


THE  DUFFER'S  FORTNIGHT          199 

twig.  We  cannot  say  that  it  did  not  happen 
like  that  in  those  good  old  times,  because  we  simply 
do  not  know. 

But  we  can  say  heartily,  and  with  one  accord,  that 
so  far  as  the  present  is  concerned  the  true  inter- 
pretation of  "  Duffer's  fortnight  "  is  "  the  fortnight 
wherein  the  angler  proves  himself  a  duffer."  You 
do  not  carry  any  residuum  of  three-pounders  on 
withy  twigs  nowadays.  Your  pockets  can  be  kept 
for  their  proper  functions,  as  receptacles  for 
tobacco,  matches,  fly-boxes,  and  the  like,  and  your 
creel  will  always  have  room  for  a  big  bunch  of 
marsh  marigolds,  or  other  trophies,  with  which  the 
fisherman  likes  to  fill  up  emptiness,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  placate  his  womenfolk  at  home.  After 
giving  many  and  wonderful  proofs  of  incompetence 
in  one  direction,  it  is  pleasant  to  be  able  to  show 
signs  of  abilities  in  another.  To  be  able  to  recognise 
marsh  marigolds  when  one  sees  them  and  thereupon 
to  gather  of  them  largely  does  afford  some  consola- 
tion. "  If  I  can't  catch  fish  I  can,  at  any  rate, 
appreciate  flowers  " — that  is  the  sort  of  attitude. 
Later  in  the  year  a  habit  of  seeking  such  extraneous 
comfort  may  be  even  more  useful,  as  when  the 
meditation  runs,  "  I  don't  care  much  about  fish, 
but  I  do  like  mushrooms."  This,  however,  is  a 
digression. 

The  Mayfly  is  an  extraordinary  insect,  and  it 


200  TROUT  FISHING 

produces  extraordinary  results  on,  in,  and  about  a 
river.  Observing  it  in  its  numbers  for  the  first 
time,  you  would  hazard  a  guess  that  a  river  must 
be  very  prolific  to  stand  the  drain  on  its  resources 
that  is  undoubtedly  going  to  take  place.  There, 
on  the  one  hand,  are  all  the  trout  intent  on  feeding 
to  such  a  degree  that  they  hardly  take  notice  of 
their  natural  enemy,  man,  as  he  stalks  along  the 
bank.  There,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  whole  army 
of  anglers  turning  out  for  the  destruction  of  the 
said  trout,  armed  with  every  device  that  can  make 
their  victory  certain.  The  contest  is  surely  going 
to  be  very  unequal,  and  you  begin  to  wonder  whether 
this  is  sport  or  a  form  of  butchery.  A  short  Act, 
The  Trout  in  Mayfly  Time  Preservation  Act,  occurs 
to  you.  Its  scope  may  be  gathered  from  the 
shorter  title  which  you  also  think  out,  The  Ten 
Brace  Act.  Obviously,  unless  some  such  provision 
is  made  for  the  future,  trout  which  behave  as  those 
trout  are  behaving  in  the  presence  of  anglers  who 
look  so  capable  and  well  equipped  as  those  anglers, 
are  to  all  intents  and  purposes  an  extinct  race. 
Most  of  us  have  had  some  such  impression  in  our 
time.  Some  of  us  even  find  it  recurring  year  after 
year  when  we  get  the  first  glimpses  of  the  Mayfly 
rise.  But  it  passes  like  many  other  first  impressions. 
There  is  no  better  cure  for  it  than  to  take  a  rod  and 
begin  under  the  hot  sun. 


THE  DUFFER'S   FORTNIGHT         201 

On  the  whole,  the  worst  feature  of  the  Mayfly 
rise  to  the  disillusioned  angler  is  the  remarkable 
contrast  between  possibilities  and  performances. 
He  finds  all  the  big  fish,  which  at  other  times  are 
just  traditions  or,  at  best,  dimly-seen  shadows, 
become  concrete  realities  which  wallow  and  splash 
and  surge  over  the  whole  stream.  They  are  all 
feeding  or  waiting  to  feed,  or  taking  a  hurried 
interval  for  digestion  so  that  they  can  begin  again, 
and  it  looks  as  though  a  man  could  hardly  fail  to 
catch  as  many  as  he  may  want.  But  when  he  comes 
to  put  the  matter  to  the  test,  he  finds  that  things 
are  not  at  all  what  they  seem.  Most  of  the  fish 
are  bulging,  as  may  be  gathered  from  their  restless 
journeys  hither  and  yon.  Of  the  rest,  a  good 
proportion  have  come  to  the  stage  of  discrimination, 
and  will  have  even  the  natural  fly  just  so  or  not  at 
all.  An  artificial  fly  obviously  can  never  be  "  just 


so." 


There  remain  just  a  few  "possibles,"  and  the 
angler's  relations  with  them  are  commonly  as 
follows  :  (a)  Fly  pulled  away  at  the  critical  time,  and 
first  possible  put  down ;  (b)  fly  seized  by  a  quarter- 
pounder  in  a  barefaced  manner,  to  second  possible's 
disgust  and  retreat;  (c)  and  (d)  two  sixpenny  flies 
left  in  two  three-pound  mouths ;  (e)  fly  hitched  up 
in  tree  behind  just  as  fifth  possible  has  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  can  manage  two  more,  and  two  more 


202  TROUT  FISHING 

only ;  (/)  fly  floats  beautifully  over  fine  possible  of  at 
least  four  pounds,  and  is  taken  without  hesitation. 
Battle  less  strenuous  than  was  expected.  Reason 
apparent  later  when  possible  turns  out  to  be  one  and 
a  quarter  pounds,  which  is  a  quarter  of  a  pound  under 
the  size  limit;  (g)  another  sixpenny  fly  left  in 
another  three-pound  mouth ;  and  so  on. 

All  this  happens  amid  a  scene  of  general  turmoil, 
which  adds  to  the  angler's  naturally  overwrought 
condition  of  mind.  Finally,  he  is  reduced  to  a  wild 
state  in  which  he  rushes  from  place  to  place  and  fish 
to  fish,  thrashes  the  unoffending  air  with  his  pro- 
testing rod,  and  generally  does  his  best  to  prove 
that  he  is  as  a  fact  a  duffer  engaged  in  his  fortnight. 
He  returns  home  in  the  cool  of  night  with  a  solitary 
two-pounder,  which  he  caught  on  a  sedge  after  the 
Mayfly  hatch  was  over  for  the  day,  and  wonders 
why  things  should  be  ordered  as  they  are. 

They  say — and,  of  course,  many  of  us  know  that 
it  is  true — that  the  duffer's  fortnight  is  not  all  like 
this.  Provided  you  are  able  to  see  the  head  and 
body  and  tail  of  it,  you  may  get  a  true  Mayfly  day, 
a  day  on  which  big  fish  are  in  the  mood  and  on 
which  you  can  pick  and  choose,  as  is  the  delightful 
theory  of  Mayfly  fishing,  and  come  home  with  one 
or  two  really  fine  specimens,  which  you  have 
besieged  and  conquered  in  the  approved  style.  You 


THE  DUFFER'S   FORTNIGHT         203 

will  have  nothing  to  say  to  two-pounders  on  such 
a  day,  for  their  betters  fill  your  eye,  though  if  you 
chose  you  could  levy  big  toll  on  them.  Such  days 
are  on  record. 

Two  or  three  brace  averaging  four  pounds — there 
have  been  such  baskets,  and  possibly  will  be  again. 
There  are  waters  where  the  thing  could  easily  be 
done  with  a  stroke  of  luck  to  help.  And  there  are 
waters  which  offer  greater  inducements  to  effort 
even  than  these,  waters  where  lurk  real  monsters, 
hardly  seen  all  the  rest  of  the  year  except  as  an 
occasional  wave  and  a  splash  under  a  glittering 
cascade  of  small  coarse-fish  fry,  but  possibly  to 
become  surface  feeders  on  one  or  two  days  of  the 
duffer's  fortnight.  The  ten-pound  trout  does  exist 
in  some  rivers,  and  he  has  been  seen  feeding  on 
Mayflies  as  heartily  as  his  smaller  brothers.  But 
even  to  get  a  rise  out  of  him  means  a  waiting  game, 
for  he  does  not  come  up  for  the  Mayfly  as  a  matter 
of  course.  The  best  you  can  hope  for  is  that  he 
may  come  up.  And  if  he  comes  up  you  may  not 
be  able  to  do  anything  with  him.  Still,  it  is  worth 
a  June  fortnight  even  to  have  watched  such  a  trout 
feed. 

That  is  the  spirit  which  has  animated  nearly  all 
my  Mayfly  fishing  for  years  and  it  explains,  if  it 
does  not  altogether  excuse,  a  very  poor  total  of  fish 


204  TROUT  FISHING 

caught  in  relation  to  the  amount  of  time  and 
enthusiasm  expended.  One  season,  I  remember, 
which  I  spent  on  a  portion  of  the  Kennet  noted  for 
its  big  fish,  yielded  almost  no  trout  to  me  though 
other  rods  were  getting  their  three-pounders  and  one 
got  a  beauty  of  over  five  pounds. 

I  hardly  got  a  chance  of  a  three-pounder  that 
season,  the  reason  being  that  I  spent  practically 
the  whole  time  right  at  the  bottom  of  the  water 
waiting  for  my.  eight-pounders  to  begin  to  rise. 
There  were  eight-pounders  there — at  any  rate  there 
was  one,  for  I  saw  him  one  day  but  a  few  inches 
from  my  eyes;  I  was  looking  over  the  camp- 
sheathing  and  he  was  swimming  slowly  upstream 
close  beside  it — but  the  trouble  was  that  there  was 
no  Mayfly,  or  not  enough  to  make  the  big  fish  rise. 
Day  after  day  the  appearance  of  odd  flies  en- 
couraged a  hope  that  the  rise  was  just  about  to 
begin,  but  day  after  day  it  stopped  short  of  the 
desired  point.  So  I  got  no  sport  worth  mentioning 
and  never  saw  one  of  my  eight-pounders  take  a  fly. 

I  have  spent  other  seasons  quite  as  unprofitably, 
but  I  have  usually  succeeded  in  getting  at  least 
one  rise  out  of  a  fish  which  has  seemed  to  me  worth 
long  waiting.  The  ambition  to  get  a  monster  has 
of  course  given  me  some  thoroughly  dull  days,  dull 
at  least  so  far  as  active  employment  is  concerned. 


THE  DUFFER'S   FORTNIGHT         205 

I  remember  one  snatched  with  difficulty  amid  the 
stresses  of  war-time  which  almost  beat  my  own 
record  of  nothingness. 

It  differed  from  previous  days  of  the  same  kind 
in  that  the  train  of  arrival  was  an  hour  earlier  and 
that  of  departure  an  hour  later,  with  reference  to 
the  sun,  than  of  old  owing  to  the  new  summer-time 
business.  The  Mayfly  does  not  know  about  summer- 
time, or,  if  it  knows,  it  is  like  those  valiant  North- 
amptonshire farmers,  who  were  said  to  have  greeted 
the  new  measure  with  contempt  and  contumely, 
and  does  not  care. 

The  day  was  hot,  distempered  by  fitful,  thundery 
gusts.     The   available   shade   was   limited   to   one 
extremely  insufficient  willow,  hardly  big  enough  to 
make  a  cricket  stump,  let  alone  a  whole  bat.     This 
tree,  though  it  did  not  exactly  wither  away  like  the 
scriptural    gourd,    was    almost    equally    deceptive 
because  of  its  immobility.     In  the  morning  and  the 
early  part  of  the  afternoon  it  offered  a  little  pro- 
tection provided  I  crawled  round  as  the  sun's  angle 
altered.     Afterwards  only  by  sitting  in  the  river 
could  I  put  the  treelet  to  any  use  as  a  sun  filter. 
You  will  deduce  that  I  did  not  do  this.     But  earlier 
I  spent  a   good   many  recumbent   hours.     I   was 
mostly  occupied  watching  insects  on  and  about  the 
water — a  wonderful  show  of  fly  life.     At  times  my 


206  TROUT  FISHING 

eyes  may  have  closed ;  I  do  not  remember.  Certain 
it  is  that  there  was  no  occasion  for  using  the  rod  in 
spite  of  all  the  fly — alder,  button,  sedges  (various 
and  many),  olives  and  their  spinners,  black  gnat 
in  droves,  yellow  May  duns,  and  occasional  green 
drakes.  Not  a  fish  more  important  than  a  small 
dace  moved  to  anything. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  when  the  Mayfly  began 
to  hatch,  induced  thereto  by  an  interval  when  clouds 
covered  the  sun.  But  the  clouds  passed,  the  heat 
returned,  and  the  hatch  ceased  abruptly.  I  left 
the  riverside  thereupon  in  quest  of  some  sort  of 
meal  to  hearten  me  against  the  work  in  prospect 
when  the  fly  really  should  come  on.  I  timed  the 
thing  well,  for  the  hatch  really  did  begin  as  I 
returned.  And  a  very  good  hatch  too.  But  I 
cannot  say  that  it  made  much  difference.  The 
dace  dimpled  a  little  more  freely  and  may  have  been 
a  bit  bigger,  but  it  was  long  before  I  saw  a  trout, 
one  of  those  few  big  ones  which  the  water  holds, 
make  any  sign  of  life.  So  there  was  still  no  fishing 
to  speak  of.  One  gets  soon  tired  of  spoiling  May- 
flies over  dace.  After  a  while,  however,  there  was 
a  plop  from  a  heavy  fish,  and  up  he  came  again  in 
the  stream  between  the  two  eddies,  the  place  where 
day  dreams  had  figured  the  record  trout  a-rising. 
Not  to  waste  words,  he  took  at  the  first  fair  cast, 
and  plunged  deep  down  into  the  twelve-foot  pool, 


THE  DUFFER'S  FORTNIGHT         207 

strong  as  a  submarine.  The  real  thing  at  last ! 
But  the  triumph  ended  in  a  netful  of  silver  scales 
and  red  fins — a  distressing  four-pound  chub.  And 
there  was  a  similar  triumph  a  few  minutes  later — a 
three -pound  disappointment. 

Further,  there  was  nothing  to  record  until  almost 
the  last  moment  when  a  move  had  to  be  made 
upstream  in  view  of  the  last  train  for  home.  Then 
at  a  corner  (where  by  the  way  in  the  morning  was 
seen  a  great  length  of  something  which  head-and- 
tailed  once,  but  seen  from  such  a  distance  that  it 
might  have  been  a  trick  of  the  imagination),  at  that 
corner  was  evident  a  feeding  fish  of  great  size. 
And  it  cruised  on  a  definite  beat,  up  and  down,  a 
hopeful  sign.  It  was  a  long  cast  and  an  awkward 
owing  to  a  bush  and  tall  rushes,  but  at  last  the  fly 
reached  the  right  spot,  was  taken,  and  ye  gods, 
what  a  moving  of  the  waters  !  That,  alas  !  was  all, 
for  the  line  came  back  without  the  fly.  There  sad, 
and  so  home,  as  Pepys  said  when  the  minikin  string 
broke.  A  bad  end  to  a  poorish  day.  But  it  was 
worth  while  to  have  had  it,  if  only  to  see  that 
monster  swirl.  He  may  have  been  another  chub 
of  course,  a  colossus  among  chub.  But  I  hold  that 
I  am  entitled  to  be  of  different  opinion.  In  fact  I 
must  be,  in  order  to  justify  my  attitude  towards 
Mayfly  fishing  in  general. 

That  day  was  in  1916.     I  also  had  a  little  Mayfly 


208  TROUT  FISHING 

fishing  in  1917  which  I  will  duly  record,  since  it 
fits  in  well  with  the  scheme  by  which  my  sport  with 
this  fly  is  ordered  under  Providence. 

At  any  more  normal  period  I  should  have  made 
bold  to  complain  a  little.  I  still  do  not  think  I 
was  treated  well.  Providence  does  things  too 
thoroughly.  It  began  by  tantalising  me  with  the 
sight  of  a  Mayfly  sitting  on  a  sailor  man's  white  cap 
in  the  Baker  Street- Waterloo  Tube  Railway. 

I  might  so  easily  have  been  spared  that  unusual 
sight.  Come  to  think  of  it,  you  might  travel  the 
line  year  in  year  out  for  a  decade  and  never  see  the 
like  again.  It  was  a  real  live  Mayfly,  not  an  imita- 
tion, which,  I  imagine,  would  be  contrary  to  the 
King's  Regulations  and  might  be  provided  for  under 
some  comprehensive  article.  For  the  insect  itself 
I  am  sure  there  is  no  provision  of  any  kind. 

Well,  as  I  say,  I  saw  that  sight,  had  speech  with  the 
unconscious  wearer  of  the  cap,  and  deduced  that 
the  Mayfly  was  up  in  a  district  where  I  should  be 
on  Bank  Holiday.  That,  of  course,  set  me  to 
thinking  about  fishing  in  spite  of  much  graver 
preoccupations  which  then  were  mine. 

For  in  that  district  lives  what  an  amusing  writer 
has  called  "the  occasional  trout."  What  better 
opportunity  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  that 
mysterious  but  attractive  fish?  I  have  a  firm 
conviction  that  he  is  never  under  three  pounds, 


THE  DUFFER'S   FORTNIGHT         209 

and  usually  somewhere  between  seven  and  ten 
pounds.  To  be  brief,  I  laid  all  my  plans  for 
catching  him,  and  proved  to  my  own  satisfaction 
at  those  rehearsals  which  take  place  on  the  edge 
of  sleep  that  he  was  certainly  a  seven-pounder,  and 
maybe  a  bit  over.  Meanwhile  I  laboured  abun- 
dantly so  as  to  have  a  few  hours  free  during  the 
holiday.  How  fortunate,  I  thought,  that  the 
district  is  early  in  the  matter  of  Mayfly. 

To  condense  the  story,  I  succeeded  in  snatching 
two  evenings.  The  first  was  ushered  in  by  a  thunder- 
storm and  chased  out  by  another  thunderstorm. 
It  was  a  wretched  sandwich  of  an  evening,  flattened 
utterly  by  the  two  convulsions  on  either  side  of  it. 
Nothing  rose  which  I  could  honestly  claim  to  be 
other  than  dace  or  bleak.  Fly  was  in  evidence, 
but  sparse  and  dispirited. 

The  morrow  was  lovely.  It  inclined  to  a  fresh 
wind  all  day,  but  as  I  toiled  with  papers  that  did 
not  worry  me.  About  tea  time,  moreover,  the 
wind  began  to  drop,  and  my  hopes  rose.  It  was 
going  to  be  one  of  those  perfect  Mayfly  evenings 
which  mellow  from  gold  to  rose,  from  rose  to  opal, 
and  from  opal  to  the  deep  blue  of  a  summer  night. 
I  set  out  across  the  knee-deep  grass,  drinking  in 
the  goodly  scent  of  the  may,  and  thanking  a  benevo- 
lent Providence  for  a  few  hours  of  perfection.  And 
so  I  came,  leisurely  rejoicing,  to  the  river,  at  whose 


210  TROUT  FISHING 

margin  even  from  a  distance  I  could  see  the  spinners 
beginning  their  evening  dance. 

Thus  to  the  water's  edge.  I  looked  down,  and 
behold  the  river  wras  as  soup  in  a  tureen !  And  so 
it  remained  till  I  came  sadly  home,  having  seen  a 
magnificent  hatch  of  fly  with  not  a  fish  paying  the 
smallest  attention  to  it.  I  learnt  afterwards  that 
higher  up  the  valley  the  thunderstorms  of  the  day 
before  had  brought  with  them  floods  of  rain  lasting 
for  hours.  Which  was  an  explanation,  but  no 
comfort.  On  the  whole  this  was  the  poorest 
Mayfly  season  I  have  ever  had. 

In  other  and  better  seasons  I  have  had  some  fine 
opportunities  on  first-rate  waters,  thanks  to  the 
kindness  of  their  owners  or  lessees,  but  I  have  never 
succeeded  in  doing  anything  with  them  worth 
mentioning.  Somehow  or  other  I  always  make  the 
worst  of  Mayfly  opportunities,  and  the  occa- 
sional successes,  which  even  I  have  not  been  able 
wholly  to  avoid,  have  usually  left  a  regret,  amari 
aliquid,  behind. 

There  was  one  very  queer  season  on  the  Kennet 
below  Newbury,  which  started  with  a  deluge,  con- 
tinued with  a  flood,  and  wound  up  with  a  spell  of 
winter.  I  got  to  the  river  on  a  Saturday  morning  to 
find  things  not  wholly  inauspicious.  Albeit  in  a  close 
and  thundery  air  the  morning  hatch  of  fly  was 
satisfactory,  and  for  about  half  an  hour  it  seemed 


THE  DUFFER'S   FORTNIGHT         211 

as  though  the  fish  were  about  to  feed  in  earnest. 
Two  admirable  trout,  indeed,  turned  themselves 
miraculously  into  chub  in  the  brief  space  that 
ensued  between  hooking  and  landing,  while  several 
plump  dace  made  mess  of  several  dainty  flies  which 
had  been  dressed  for  their  betters.  Then  in  the 
distance  arose  a  dark  mysterious  cloud,  which 
muttered  ominously  as  it  approached. 

Having  been  caught  in  that  way  before,  and 
having  recently  read  warnings  as  to  the  "  conduct- 
ing "  properties  of  fly-rods,  I  retreated  without  loss 
of  time,  and  presently,  safe  under  cover,  was, 
watching  a  storm  of  malevolent  vehemence,  which 
threatened  to  stop  Mayfly  fishing  for  the  day.  It 
not  only  threatened,  but  performed,  and  by  6  p.m. 
the  river  was  running  pea-soup  in  appalling 
quantities. 

On  Sunday  it  continued  thick,  only  beginning 
to  fine  down  towards  evening;  and  on  Monday, 
though  the  river  was  fairly  clear,  the  wind  arose  in 
its  might  to  rob  angling  of  any  small  chance  it 
might  have  had.  Some  small  hatch  of  fly  about 
2  p.m.  there  undoubtedly  was,  but  the  wind  and 
cold  prevented  any  rise  from  anything  that  looked 
even  remotely  like  a  trout,  and  the  fly  ceased 
abruptly  in  about  an  hour. 

Dispirited  and  shivering  but  inspired  with  the 
doggedness  of  ill  temper,  I  hung  about  the  river 


212  TROUT  FISHING 

all  the  rest  of  the  day,  waiting  for  something  to 
turn  up.  It  was  quite  8  p.m.  before  the  wind 
dropped  and  disclosed  a  grey,  cold  river  flowing 
sullenly  beneath  a  grey,  cold  sky.  So  cheerless 
was  the  prospect  that  I  made  a  movement  for  home 
and  supper,  when  "  plop "  and  again  "  plop " 
caused  a  hurried  return  to  the  river. 

Yes,  by  the  powers  !  there  was  a  great  trout 
feeding  close  under  the  camp-sheathing,  rising 
with  a  cheerful  abandon  begotten  of  the  Mayfly 
season.  What  he  was  taking  was  undiscoverable ; 
nothing  was  visible  on  the  surface,  and  spent  gnats 
were  out  of  the  question ;  all  signs  of  Mayfly  had 
ceased  hours  before.  Still,  there  he  was,  and  he 
must  be  tried.  He  was  in  an  awkward  place,  just 
in  the  eye  of  a  swirling  eddy,  where  the  first  fly 
offered  was  promptly  drowned.  It  was  drowned  a 
second  time,  and  then  taken  off  to  make  room  for 
a  dry  one.  This  swept  down  the  run,  hovered  for  a 
second  at  the  eye,  and  was  just  about  to  be  drowned, 
too,  when  "  plop " — the  trout  had  it.  There 
followed  a  tearing  rush  straight  downstream, 
through  the  deep  pool,  past  a  bush,  over  which  the 
twelve-foot  rod  could  just  be  lifted,  and  on  for  the 
swift  water  and  the  thick  weeds.  Here  he  would 
be  a  free  fish  to  a  certainty,  for  there  was  another 
bush  in  the  way  over  which  the  rod  could  not  be 
lifted.  Therefore  it  was  a  case  of  butt  or  break. 


THE  DUFFER'S   FORTNIGHT         213 

Butt  had  it,  mercifully,  and  he  came  slowly  and 
doggedly  back,  fighting  deep,  and  trying  to  get  in  to 
the  bank.  Then  on  a  sudden  he  caved  in,  came  to 
the  top,  rolled  over  on  his  side,  and  so  into  the  net, 
as  pretty  a  four-pounder  as  eye  could  wish  to  see, 
a  thought  long  perhaps  for  a  Kennet  fish,  but  small- 
headed  and  thick-shouldered. 

Now  if  Providence  had  stopped  there  it  would 
have  left  me  with  a  completely  happy  and  triumphant 
memory  of  a  great  occasion.  My  biggest  Mayfly 
trout  (he  weighed  four  pounds  one  ounce,  and  I  have 
only  caught  one  other  on  Mayfly  which  just  touched 
four  pounds)  would  have  served  me  as  a  perpetual 
and  pleasant  reminder  of  the  beauty  of  "  sticking 
to  it."  But  what  did  Providence  do  ? 

It  did  this.  Scarcely  was  my  four-pounder  on 
the  bank  when  a  few  yards  higher  up  there  were 
more  "  plops,"  and  another  great  trout  was  hard 
at  it  in  exactly  the  same  way,  feeding  vigorously 
on  nothing.  He  was  covered,  and  he  rose  fair  and 
square,  but,  alas  !  a  hand,  shaking  from  the  recent 
conflict,  had  lost  its  cunning.  The  response  to 
the  rise  was  too  rapid,  the  fish  evidently  objected 
to  having  the  fly  pulled  away,  and  went  down,  to 
rise  no  more.  Marvellous  to  relate,  twenty  yards 
higher  up  yet  a  third  big  fish  began  to  feed  almost 
at  once,  but  there  was  more  excuse  for  missing  him, 
for  he  was  right  under  a  willow  bough,  and  could 


214  TROUT  FISHING 

only  be  reached  by  a  side  flick,  in  the  course  of 
which  the  line  got  entangled  in  the  nettles  on  the 
bank.  Therefore,  though  he  took  the  fly  all  right, 
the  rod  could  not  get  on  turns  with  him,  and  he 
departed  untouched. 

Think  what  a  leash  it  would  have  been,  for  the 
other  fish  were  quite  as  big  as  the  one  I  caught ! 
But  Providence  evidently  meant  me  to  suffer  the 
pangs  of  regret,  and  to  make  sure  of  it,  sent  me  to 
the  same  spot  on  the  following  morning.  Then,  a 
few  yards  lower  down,  I  at  once  hooked  yet  another 
four-pounder,  played  him  for  several  minutes,  and 
was  just  preparing  to  use  the  net,  when  a  voice  said 
"  Hi,"  or  "  Good-morning,"  or  "  Any  Sport  ?  "  or 
some  other  offensive  thing,  my  attention  was  dis- 
tracted for  a  moment,  and  the  fly  came  away.  For 
twopence  I  would  have  pushed  the  owner  of  the 
voice  into  the  river.  Providence  I  would  have 
pushed  in  for  nothing  at  all  had  I  had  the  chance. 
I  have  never  had  to  do  with  four  such  big  fish  in 
such  close  succession  before  or  since. 

Francis  Francis  and  others  used  in  old  days  to 
begin  the  Mayfly  season  on  the  Itchen  and  continue 
it  on  the  Kennet,  thus  getting  some  three  weeks 
of  fishing.  One  season  I  tried  to  emulate  this 
achievement  and  pursued  the  insect  to  three  different 
rivers.  It  was  not  a  great  success.  Here  is  the 
record  of  the  business  as  I  set  it  down  at  the  time. 


THE  DUFFER'S   FORTNIGHT         215 

I  leave  the  confession  unaltered  as  it  points  a  moral 
or  two. 

"  There  was  a  certain  piquancy  about  my  first 
view  of  the  Mayfly  this  year,  because  it  came  within 
a  week  of  my  last  view  of  the  March  brown,  and 
I  was  able  to  compare  the  creatures  with  a  freshness 
of  interest  that  was  gratifying.     I  remember  think- 
ing well  bf  the  Mayfly,  and  disparaging  the  March 
brown,  because  I  was  sure  that  the  larger  and  later 
insect  would  make  ample  amends  for  the  scandalous 
behaviour  of  the  smaller  and  earlier.     Now  I  want 
something  larger  and  later  still,  which  shall  make 
good  the  abominable   deficiencies   of  the  Mayfly. 
Not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it  I  should  like 
dragon-flies  to  become  trout-food  all  through  July 
and  to  enable  me  so  to  catch  something.     I  badly 
desire  to  have  some  satisfactory  standard  of  com- 
parison  by   which   I   may   disparage   the   Mayfly 
thoroughly  and  reduce  it  to  the  level  of  the  yellow 
May  dun  which  trout  do  not  take.     They  do  not 
take  the  Mayfly  either,  of  course,  not  really,  but 
people  think  they  do.     I  wish  to  expose  that  fiction 
by  the  aid  of  a  dragon-fly  carnival  and  enormous 
fish  safely  landed  with  No.  10  hooks.     People  would 
know  then  that  the  Mayfly  is  not  the  real  thing. 

"  By  way  of  preparation  for  this,  let  me  with 
brief  dignity  relate  my  experiences.  First  there 
was  a  day  on  the  Surrey  stream  which  of  old  misled 


216  TROUT  FISHING 

me  into  the  idea  that  the  Mayfly  was  a  none-such— 
I  apologise  for  the  expression,  but  it  dates  from 
Cavalier-Roundhead  days,  and  my  mood  is  Round- 
headed.  Well,  on  this  Surrey  stream  I  saw  such 
plenty  of  Mayflies  as  never  was  before.  Usually 
twelve  flies  in  an  hour  make  you  excited,  and  twenty- 
.four  are  the  cream  of  the  cream.  But  on  May  14 
I  saw  more  flies  in  five  minutes  than  would  last 
half  an  ordinary  day.  And  the  fish  ignored  them, 
practically.  The  manner  of  their  behaviour  was 
this.  Upstream,  a  hundred  yards  or  so  away  at  a 
vague  point  A.  round  a  corner,  would  come  a  resound- 
ing splash,  and  I  would  hurry  thither  to  await  its 
repetition.  Ten  minutes  would  pass,  and  then 
would  come  another  splash,  somewhere  near  the 
spot  I  had  left,  an  indeterminate  B.,  and  I  would 
hurry  back.  Followed  more  waiting,  and  then  a 
third  splash  at  or  about  A.  Renewed  expectancy 
there  would  be  rewarded  by  a  fourth  splash — at  B. 
Why,  a  man  will  ask,  did  I  not  display  presence  of 
mind  and  remain  at  B.  ?  I  tried  that.  The  result 
of  it  would  be  two  and  even  three  splashes  at  A., 
which  was  more  than  human  nature  could  stand. 
Also  I  tried  casting  at  the  place  where  the  rises 
seemed  to  be  as  judged  by  the  ear.  And  that  was 
more  than  the  trout  could  stand. 

"  The  day  yielded  me  one  wretched  trout  and 
one  indelible  disaster.     I  did  at  last  find  a  glorious 


A  4£  Ib.  Trout 
from  the  Kennet 


THE  DUFFER'S  FORTNIGHT         217 

fish  feeding  persistently,  an  easy  fish,  a  fish  close 
to  my  own  bank,  a  five-pounder.  He  was  what, 
from  hearing  about  other  men's  sport,  I  have  learnt 
of  late  to  call  a  '  sitter.'  I  fished  for  him  as  I 
imagine  those  other  men  do,  with  no  mistake, 
no  drag,  no  mischance.  And  he  took  as  those  other 
men's  do,  felt  as  heavy  as  theirs,  made  my  reel 
scream  as  theirs — and  got  off  as  mine  do.  Sitters  ! 

"  Now  let  me  tell  of  the  visit  to  one  of  the  most 
charming  streams  that  join  the  Thames,  with  one 
of  the  best  of  fellows  and  hosts  that  ever  cast  line. 
The  Mayfly  had  appeared  ten  days  too  soon  and — 
was  over. 

"  And  now  let  me  sing  the  Kennet,  and  the 
Brethren,  and  the  seven  streams  and  seventy  carriers 
and  seven  hundred  thousand  three-pound  trout, 
which  all  welcomed  me  in  pouring  rain.  Even 
as  I  got  there  I  trembled  at  the  sight,  so  much  was 
the  fly  and  so  furious  the  rising  of  the  three-pounders. 
It  was  a  bewildering  spectacle  to  a  man  who  had 
known  trouble.  The  Brethren  as  usual  were  admir- 
ably calm  and  surveyed  the  scene  unmoved. 
'  When,'  they  said,  '  the  rise  begins,  we'll  put 
him  on  the  Grove.'  I  was  speechless.  '  When 
the  rise  begins  ! '  '  Isn't,'  I  presently  said  feebly, 
c  isn't  this  a  rise  ?  ' 

"  It  wasn't.  The  rise  began  at  two.  I  saw  a 
great  river  simply  heaving  with  three-pounders, 


218  TROUT  FISHING 

and  naturally  my  mind  became  unhinged.  I  rushed 
up  and  down  the  seven  streams  and  the  seventy 
carriers,  and  the  seven  hundred  thousand  three- 
pound  trout  rushed  too;  we  all  rushed.  My  rod 
went  up  and  down  like  a  flail,  my  fly  fled  hither  and 
thither  like  a  snipe,  the  sun  came  out,  the  sky  took 
on  a  blue  face — it  was  a  mad  and  merry  time.  I 
arrived  at  the  point  of  tea  with  a  brace  weighing 
just  under  four  pounds,  and  I  expect  I  ought  to  have 
had  five  brace  weighing  forty. 

"  And  then  after  tea  there  was  the  five-pounder 
to  be  caught  at  the  point  of  the  island,  and  the 
four-pounder  under  the  hedge,  and  much  more 
to  be  crowded  into  a  delirious  evening.  To  reach 
the  five-pounder  needed  a  twenty-two-yard  cast, 
with  about  five  yards  of  slack  over  and  above  to 
counteract  the  weed  bed  and  the  eddy.  But  the 
strength  of  the  insane  was  upon  me,  and  after  a 
strenuous  hour  I  succeeded  in  losing  him.  And 
I  lost  a  three-and-a-half-pounder  just  below  him, 
and  a  three-pounder  just  below  him,  and  the  four- 
pounder  under  the  hedge,  and  had  other  brave  doings 
worthy  of  the  opportunity  and  of  me.  The  end 
of  it  all  was  one  more  fish  below  the  size  limit,  which 
had  swallowed  the  fly  and  made  himself  bleed. 
What  a  day  it  would  have  been  for  a  calm,  capable 
person  who  had  not  known  trouble. 

"  I  could  tell  of  another  day  on  a  water  scarcely 


THE  DUFFER'S   FORTNIGHT         219 

less  desirable  in  my  eyes,  a  day  spoilt  by  floods 
of  rain  and  a  thickening  of  the  stream,  and  of  another 
day  when  pusillanimous  retreat  before  a  storm 
deprived  me  of  the  half -hour  in  which  the  trout 
really  were  on.  But  what  is  the  use  of  more  ado  ? 
How  am  I  to  persuade  trout  to  take  dragon-flies, 
and  so  repair  my  fortunes?  That  is  now  become 
the  question." 

One  more  moral  and  the  chapter  must  come  to  its 
close.  This  is  connected  with  the  conditions  which 
prevail  on  a  hard-fished  ticket-water  on  which  I 
took  a  rod  one  year. 

With  the  Mayfly  on  the  wing  every  single  soul 
who  could  be  on  the  water  was  on  the  water,  which 
meant  a  considerable  congregation  of  souls.  And 
that  meant  what  is  pleasantly  called  "  intensive  " 
fishing — that  is  to  say,  wherever  you  happened  to 
be  a  brother  angler  would  be  within  exclamation 
distance,  possibly  even  within  a  whisper.  Where 
there  are  plenty  of  trout  intent  on  Mayfly  this  does 
not  perhaps  seriously  affect  sport,  but  still,  one 
prefers  a  little  more  elbow-room  when  one  can  get 
it,  if  only  because  exclamations  are  not  always 
intended  for  other  ears.  Also  I  still  hold,  despite 
sea-angling  festivals  and  the  like,  that  angling 
is  of  its  nature  a  solitary  diversion. 

I  got  out  none  too  early   (several  experiences 
on  that  water  ultimately  convinced  me  that  to 


220  TROUT  FISHING 

make  sure  of  the  rise  you  should  be  out  with  the 
lark  and  home  with  the  owl),  and  I  received  a 
delightful  surprise  on  finding  myself  quite  alone 
on  the  first  stretch  I  came  to,  where  the  smaller 
river  rounds  a  corner  lined  by  trees  on  the  far  bank. 
This  smaller  river  is  not  of  so  much  account  as 
the  big  one,  and  though  it  holds  good  fish,  it  has  the 
reputation  of  being  dour.  Besides,  it  is  later  than 
the  other,  and  the  Mayfly  was  not  really  due  on  it 
yet.  It  seemed  to  me  that  so  far  it,  or,  at  any  rate, 
this  topmost,  rather  inaccessible,  corner,  might 
have  been  overlooked. 

Having  evolved  this  theory,  I  saw  several  Mayflies 
and,  immediately  after,  poised  near  the  surface  a 
trout  of  such  calibre  as  I  had  not  deemed  possible 
in  the  stream.  Then  I  saw  another  even  bigger, 
and  after  him  three  more,  all  big  and  all  in  evident 
expectation  of  the  hatch.  "  This,"  I  said  to  the 
solitude,  "is  good  enough.  Here  I  am;  here  I 
remain."  I  will  not  deny  that  I  was  excited.  To 
have  lighted  on  a  practically  virgin  piece  of  water 
during  the  Mayfly  time  on  one  of  the  hardest  flogged 
fisheries  in  England  was  a  piece  of  superb  luck,  by 
which  I  hoped  to  profit  to  the  tune  of  three  brace 
weighing  at  least  twelve  pounds.  Afterwards  no 
doubt  the  stream  would  be  fished  as  intensively 
as  the  rest,  but  for  the  moment  I  seemed  to  be  not 


THE  DUFFER'S   FORTNIGHT         221 

only  alone,  but  also  the  first  to  burst  into  that 
silent  scene. 

Let  me  now  confess  that  the  affair  did  not  turn 
out  quite  as  I  had  hoped.  Those  large  trout,  so 
visible  and  apparently  so  ready  for  me,  displayed 
an  unexpected  amount  of  self-control.  I  laboured 
over  them  for  about  an  hour,  and  the  net  result 
was  three  short  rises.  It  struck  me  that  they  could 
not  really  be  on  terms  with  the  Mayfly  yet,  and  that 
they  might  be  the  better  for  a  rest  while  I  had  lunch. 
One  thing  was  practically  certain — they  could  not 
fail  to  come  on  some  time,  when  the  fly  should  get  a 
bit  thicker,  and  then,  not  having  seen  any  other 
artificial  flies,  they  would  certainly  take  mine. 

So  I  lunched,  sitting  peacefully  on  my  basket, 
with  one  eye  cocked  for  a  proper  rise  at  a  fly — 
so  far  it  had  been  a  matter  of  occasional  bulges 
after  nymphs.  To  me,  thus  sitting,  entered  then 
he  whom  I  shall  call  the  First  Angler,  both  by  reason 
of  his  priority  and  of  his  acknowledged  skill.  With 
him  there  was  a  pleasant  chat.  In  the  course  of 
it  it  appeared  that  he  knew  all  about  the  corner. 
More  than  that,  I  learnt  that  its  fishable  condition 
was  due  to  him,  for  he  had  recently  been  among 
the  withies  with  a  pruning-knife.  The  result,  easy 
casting,  combined  with  good  cover,  did  him  great 
credit.  But  it  was  evident  that  I  was  in  no  sense 


222  TROUT  FISHING 

a  discoverer.  Probably,  indeed,  the  good  fish  which 
he  had  lost  early  that  morning  was  the  topmost 
of  my  five. 

I  was  still  sitting  on  my  basket  meditating  whether 
those  big  trout  were,  after  all,  quite  the  untutored 
beings  I  had  hoped,  when  the  Second  Angler  arrived, 
to  take  up  a  watchful  position  some  way  lower  down. 
A  common  boredom  (the  rise  had  either  petered  out 
or  not  properly  begun)  caused  us  to  drift  together 
eventually,  and  to  converse  awhile.  From  our 
talk  I  gathered  that  the  corner  was  not  only  the 
favourite  resort  of,  but  had  even  been  named  after, 
the  Second  Angler.  I  became  doubly  certain  that 
I  was  not  its  discoverer. 

Presently,  the  Second  Angler  having  gone  down- 
stream, arrived  the  Third  Angler.  "  Yes,"  he 
said,  "  I  had  hold  of  a  good  one  there  this  morning," 
pointing  to  the  spot  where  No.  2  (of  my  five  big  ones) 
had  been  displaying  his  massive  charms.  The 
Third  Angler  confessed  to  not  being  a  patient  fisher- 
man, and  departed,  after  assuring  me  that  the  bottom 
of  the  water  was  the  best  place  thus  early  in  the 
rise.  Soon  after  I  went  away  myself  to  get  some 
tea,  as  nothing  was  doing  and  the  fly  had  not  yet 
begun. 

I  stayed  away  too  long.  The  Fourth  Angler, 
who  was  hard  at  work  when  I  came  back,  and  who 
landed  two  or  three  fish  while  I  was  getting  to  work 


THE  DUFFER'S  FORTNIGHT         223 

again,  pointed  out  the  exact  spot  where  he  had  just 
lost  a  four-pounder.  The  fly  must  have  appeared 
the  moment  it  caught  sight  of  my  departing  form, 
and  the  Fourth  Angler  cannot  have  been  long  behind 
it.  But  the  take,  such  as  it  was,  was  over  by  the 
time  I  got  back,  and  I  saw  no  more  big  fish  move. 
My  friend's  big  trout,  by  the  way,  was  not  one  of 
my  original  five,  but  a  fish  some  little  way  below. 
I  knew  about  him  in  the  morning,  and  had  mentally 
decided  on  him  for  the  completion  of  my  three 
brace — he  was  a  worthy  fish. 

I  will  now  pass  hurriedly  to  the  late  evening  and 
the  Fifth  Angler,  who  was  plodding  philosophically 
home.  I  had  left  the  corner  by  then,  and  was  wait- 
ing about  for  sedges  lower  down.  "  I've  only  got 
a  brace,"  said  the  Fifth  Angler,  "  but  I  had  bad 
luck.  I  lost  three  really  good  fish  up  at  the  top 
under  the  bushes  on  my  way  down  in  the  morning." 
So  there  were  the  rest  of  my  big  ones  duly  accounted 
for! 

The  moral  is  that  a  corner  may  not  be  so  quiet 
as  it  seems,  and  that  visible  big  fish  are  not  always 
as  good  as  in  the  basket. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A   PECK   OF   TROUBLES 

MANY  is  the  wise  word  (borrowed  from  better 
heads)  that  I  have  written  on  the  angler,  and  on 
what  he  ought  to  do  or  ought  not  to  do.  Once  I 
remember  I  was  severe  on  the  folly  of  forgetting 
things,  not  without  a  sort  of  righteous  pride  in  the 
fact  that  for  some  time  I  had  forgotten  nothing. 
This  was  due  in  part  to  the  working  of  my  new 
system  (whereby  everything  wanted  for  a  day's 
fishing  is  kept  in  the  creel  ready),  in  part  to  luck, 
and  in  part,  as  I  hoped,  to  genuine  mnemonic  im- 
provement. At  one  time  I  really  thought  I  had 
made  an  end  of  forgetting,  and  had  some  notion 
even  of  writing  further  on  the  subject. 

I  am  doing  so,  but  there  is,  believe  me,  a  difference 
between  this  and  the  might  have  been.  I  am  not 
going  to  blame  anybody,  not  I.  Here  are  some  of 
my  recent  achievements.  One  day  I  went  out 
fully  equipped,  save  for  the  landing-net  sling.  Let 
him  who  has  tried  to  attach  a  telescopic,  knuckle- 
jointed  net  to  the  inadequate  strap  of  a  creel  pity 
me.  Let  him  who,  tired  of  that  juggling  trick,  has 

224 


A   PECK   OF   TROUBLES  225 

fashioned  a  sling  out  of  a  piece  of  string,  and  tried 
to  get  the  net  out  of  it  in  a  hurry  pity  me  also. 
On  another  day  I  forgot  my  spring  balance,  and, 
of  course,  it  chanced  that  I  was  then  on  a  water 
where  weight,  not  length,  is  the  criterion  by  which 
fish  are  judged.  There  may  be  men  outside  fish 
farms  who  can  say  for  certain  whether  a  fish  is 
one  pound  nine  ounces  or  one  pound  seven  ounces, 
but  I  am  not  one  of  them.  There  are  others  who 
would  be  quite  happy  to  guess,  happier,  indeed, 
but  I  am  not  one  of  them  either.  The  sad  shake 
of  a  keeper's  head  would  annihilate  me.  So  I 
probably  returned  several  quite  sizeable  fish. 

On  the  third  day  I  did  an  extraordinarily  foolish 
thing.  Invited  to  fish  on  a  fine  Mayfly  water, 
I  turned  up  equipped  with  two  bedraggled  winged 
flies,  three  very  spent  gnats,  of  which  only  one  was 
in  even  fair  condition,  and  one  straddlebug  that  had 
seen  better  days.  These  were  the  occupants  of  my 
hat-band.  Boxes  full  of  admirable  flies  of  all  kinds, 
bursting  with  flies,  lay  on  a  table  miles  away.  The 
fish  proved  to  be  in  one  of  their  very  particular 
moods  that  day,  so  you  can  imagine  me  ringing  my 
miserable  changes  with  equally  miserable  results. 
Besides,  I  very  soon  lost  the  best  of  the  spent  gnats 
in  a  tree.  On  the  fourth  day  of  the  series  I  set  out 
in  the  morning  for  a  nice  long  day  with  the  grayling, 
with  hope  of  a  brace  of  trout  if  I  was  lucky.  It  was 


226  TROUT  FISHING 

to  be  a  day  of  fine  gut,  small  flies,  and  exact  science. 
The  trap  set  me  down  at  the  mill  and  drove  away. 
I  proceeded  to  prepare  for  action.  I  had  had  the 
forethought  to  put  two  casts  a-soak  in  the  damping 
pouch.  It  is  my  custom  to  soak  the  points  at  the 
waterside,  adding  so  many  and  of  such  strength 
to  the  main  cast  as  occasion  requires.  My  main 
cast  is  quite  a  strong  thing,  ending  in  stoutish 
undrawn  gut,  and  to  it  I  add  four  or  five  points 
of  lessening  sizes,  so  that  in  the  end  I  have  a  four- 
yard  cast  tapering  to  3x.  F.  M.  Halford  taught 
me  the  merit  of  a  long  cast  years  ago,  and  now, 
unless  the  wind  is  contrary,  I  hardly  ever  fish  with 
less  than  four  yards. 

I  put  up  the  rod,  threaded  the  line,  attached  a 
cast,  and  then  felt  in  my  pockets  for  the  gut -case. 
It  was  not  there.  I  was  committed  to  a  day's  gray- 
ling fishing  with  gut  which  would  be  somewhat 
strong  even  for  the  Mayfly,  and  which  would  scarcely 
go  through  the  eye  of  a  00  fly  at  all.  Then,  by  a 
stroke  of  good  fortune,  I  found  two  points  coiled 
in  the  corner  of  the  pouch.  How  long  they  had 
been  there  I  knew  not,  but  I  soaked  them  and  tied 
them  on,  hoping  for  the  best.  Nothing  much 
happened  for  a  while,  but  presently  I  caught  a  nice 
grayling,  and  began  to  think  out  an  article  entitled 
"  Lucky  Points,"  or  something  like  that.  Soon 
after,  however,  I  had  the  misfortune  to  find  a  good 


A  PECK   OF  TROUBLES  227 

trout  rising,  to  fetch  him  up,  and  to  hook  him. 
And  the  next  thing  I  knew  was  that  he  had  gone,  fly, 
points,  article  and  all.  After  that  I  made  a  little 
seeming  of  fishing  with  a  big  Wickham,  took  no 
good  out  of  it,  and  descended  to  a  big  March  brown 
fished  wet.  The  March  brown  flew  away  in  the 
air,  and  then  I  gave  it  up,  and  went  away  to  the 
canal  to  try  for  some  of  the  big  chub.  And  then 
I  went  away  altogether. 

Troubles  which  arise  from  one's  own  forgetfulness 
or  foolishness  are,  of  course,  hard  to  bear,  but  one 
is  forced  to  admit  that  they  are  deserved.  There 
are  other  troubles,  however,  which  are  not,  so  far 
as  one  can  honestly  judge,  due  to  one's  own  short- 
comings but  seem  to  be  the  work  of  a  malign  Provi- 
dence. Possibly  there  is  something  meteorological 
at  the  back  of  some  of  them. 

There  are  several  matters  which  at  intervals 
puzzle  me  as  well  as  annoy.  One  is  the  occasional 
unwillingness  of  my  lines  to  float  for  more  than  a 
short  time.  The  same  lines,  dressed  with  the  same 
unguents,  float  quite  well  at  other  times.  They  do 
not  seem  to  be  unduly  worn,  and  each  has  its  proper 
period  of  rest  and  drying,  but  on  some  days  they 
all  behave  badly.  It  may  be  something  to  do  with 
the  weather,  but  what  I  could  not  say. 

Perhaps  the  trouble  is  more  noticeable  when  there 
has  been  a  good  deal  of  thundery  weather. 


228  TROUT  FISHING 

Perhaps,  too,  that  is  responsible  for  the  accursed 
curl  in  the  gut, 'from  which  I  have  suffered  frequently. 
Up  eyes,  down  eyes,  straight  eyes — I  have  tried 
each  kind  of  hook,  and  the  gut  has  curled  with  each. 
Of  one  thing  I  am  certain — the  trouble  has  been 
worse  with  drawn  than  with  undrawn  gut.  But 
it  has  not  been  of  daily  occurrence.  The  same  gut 
which  curled  on  Saturday  might  be  as  straight  as  a 
ruler  on  Monday.  As  I  always  soak  it  well,  I  am 
coming  to  the  conclusion  that  the  weather  is  in 
some  way  responsible.  We  have  still  a  lot  to  find 
out  in  connection  with  fishing. 

Another  trouble  is  harder  to  define  in  exact  terms, 
since  it  is  rather  displayed  in  a  state  of  affairs  than 
in  any  particular  incident.  Consider  the  following 
cumulative  series  of  little  annoyances. 

Twenty  yards  above  the  railed  inclosure  whither 
the  cattle  come  to  drink  a  handsome  trout  is  rising 
just  at  the  tail  of  a  streamer  of  weed.  The  current 
at  this  point  is  of  even  flow ;  there  are  no  difficulties 
in  the  shape  of  trees  or  bushes  at  the  side  or  behind ; 
the  wind  is  barely  perceptible.  To  all  appearances 
it  is  an  easy  matter  to  put  a  fly  properly  over  the 
spot,  and  in  due  course  to  get  a  rise  out  of  the  fish, 
lying  as  it  is  about  two  yards  out  from  the  bank. 
Yet  at  the  first  trial,  though  the  length  of  line  has 
been  judged  correctly,  the  fly  shoots  off  at  a  tangent 


A  PECK   OF   TROUBLES  229 

and  falls  nearly  two  yards  wide  of  the  mark,  the 
cast  lying  in  an  irritating  loop. 

Line  is  recovered  and  another  effort  is  made. 
This  is  frustrated  by  a  sudden  jar  at  the  rod -top 
at  the  third  false  cast,  the  fly  having  come  into 
violent  contact  with  the  rod  during  its  forward 
progress.  It  has  to  be  disentangled,  and  it  is  found 
that  the  gut -point  is  twisted  several  times  round  the 
top.  It  must  be  carefully  straightened  and  wiped 
with  the  handkerchief  to  get  rid  of  any  grease  that 
may  have  got  on  to  it  from  contact  with  the  line 
before  the  attack  can  be  resumed. 

The  next  cast  falls  wide  of  the  trout  on  the  other 
side,  and  after  that  there  is  an  ominous  crack  in 
the  air  behind — the  fly  is  whipped  off.  A  new  fly 
does  not  take  long  to  put  on,  and  soon  the  rod  is 
at  work  again.  This  time  both  aim  and  distance 
are  correct,  and  the  fly  falls  at  the  right  place,  but  - 
it  falls  heavily  like  a  small  brick,  and  the  trout  is 
put  down  for  the  morning.  Over  the  next  rising 
fish  discovered  a  similar  set  of  incidents  occurs, 
and  when  at  last  all  difficulties  of  approach  are 
overcome,  and  a  third  trout  is  fairly  risen,  the 
hooking  of  it  is  found  to  be  impossible  because  the 
reel  line  has  begun  to  sink. 

These  events  of  a  dry-fly  morning,  repeated  with 
variations  through  all  the  hours  of  it,  are  related  not 


230  TROUT  FISHING 

in  a  tone  of  complaint  (though  there  is  usually  some 
of  that  at  the  time),  but  in  a  spirit  of  inquiry.  Why 
is  it  that  on  some  days  everything  goes  wrong,  not 
so  much  with  the  behaviour  of  the  fish,  for  that  is 
more  intelligible,  but  with  the  performance  of  the 
fisher  ?  He  feels  in  normal  health ;  there  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  his  zeal ;  the  light  is  good,  the  wind 
no  hindrance ;  and  yet  he  cannot  for  the  life  of  him 
make  his  fly  do  what  he  wants  it  to,  even  though 
at  normal  times  he  is  a  fair  performer. 

To  reach  a  certain  spot  he  first  tries  the  ordinary 
easy  cast,  in  which  the  rod  does  most  of  the  work, 
and  gut  and  fly  fall  in  a  ghastly  heap.  To  counteract 
this  at  the  next  attempt  he  puts  a  little  more  force 
into  it  and  adds  a  downward  cut ;  then  the  fly  falls 
with  a  splash.  Next  he  essays  an  underhand  cast, 
and  gets  hung  up  in  the  nettles.  After  that,  a  trial 
of  a  strictly  vertical  position  catches  the  hook  in 
the  top  ring.  No  matter  what  he  does,  he  does 
wrong,  until  a  day  which  dawned  with  fair  prospects 
and  promised  tranquil  pleasures  produces  violence 
and  gnashing  of  teeth.  Should  his  adjoining  neigh- 
bour, as  generally  happens,  choose  that  moment  to 
disembarrass  himself  of  superfluous  weeds,  the  condi- 
tion of  the  fisher  is  likely  to  be  very  serious  indeed. 
Floating  weeds  in  addition  to  the  other  troubles  are 
quite  enough  to  develop  any  homicidal  tendencies 
which  may  be  latent  in  the  most  placid  of  natures. 


A  PECK  OF  TROUBLES  231 

That,  however,  is  beside  the  subject,  and  the  real 
question  remains  unanswered.  No  doubt  there  are 
answers  more  or  less  satisfactory,  but  it  is  hard  to 
see  them.  The  personal  element  has  been  eliminated 
because  the  fisher  is  not  "  off  colour."  If  he  were 
he  would  not  be  surprised,  but  he  knows  he  is  not; 
he  slept  soundly,  and  ate  a  large  breakfast  with 
hearty  appetite.  At  starting  he  felt  himself  a 
match  for  any  kind  of  difficulty,  and  the  master 
of  all  methods.  There  remain  impersonal  things. 
Is  it  anything  to  do  with  the  rod ?  "I  am  sure 
rods  get  tired,"  said  an  accomplished  angler  to  me 
one  day,  "  especially  split-cane  rods ;  but  they 
recover  all  right  after  a  rest."  It  was  a  very  sugges- 
tive remark,  which  may  possibly  have  some  bearing 
on  the  point  at  issue.  If  a  rod  does  get  "  tired  " 
and  the  day  of  troubles  comes  after  it  has  been 
through  a  spell  of  hard  work,  one  need  not  be 
surprised  that  it  refuses  to  behave  properly. 

Yet  this  sequence  of  events  is  not  invariable, 
for  the  troubles  often  come  when  the  rod  has  had 
no  work  to  do  for  a  long  time — often,  alas  !  on  the 
solitary  day  which  the  angler  has  snatched  for  fish- 
ing out  of  a  busy  life.  The  rod  seems  to  be  also 
eliminated  by  this  very  fact. 

Another  possible  solution  remains — wind.  Are 
there,  even  on  days  apparently  all  but  windless, 
awkward  little  currents  of  air  near  the  surface  of 


232  TROUT   FISHING 

the  water  and  ground,  too  slight  to  be  perceptible, 
yet  cogent  enough  to  spoil  the  neat  finish  of  a  dry-fly 
cast  ?  If  so,  are  they  of  no  fixed  direction,  blowing 
where  they  list,  so  that  the  same  zephyr  which 
frustrates  the  first  easy  cast  by  opposing  the  fly 
brings  the  downward  cut  to  nothing  by  turning 
wilfully  round,  and  helping  the  fly  along  ?  The 
more  one  thinks  over  the  problem,  the  more  one 
inclines  to  this  explanation,  though  it  brings  small 
comfort  in  its  train. 

There  are  many  other  kinds  of  trouble  to  which 
we  anglers  are  heirs,  and  which  we  have  to  endure 
as  manfully  as  we  may.  One  of  the  worst  perhaps 
is  the  loss  of  fish  after  fish  for  no  apparent  reason. 
There  must  be  a  reason  of  course,  and  I  have  come 
to  be  of  opinion  that  the  fault  lies  less  with  the 
angler  (though  it  is  right  and  proper  that  he  should 
blame  himself— that  way  lies  humility)  than  with 
something  in  the  condition  of  light,  weather  or  water, 
which  makes  the  trout  take  the  fly  gingerly.  There 
is  no  mistaking  the  days  on  which  fish  take  whole- 
heartedly. The  merest  trifle  of  a  000  hook  will  then 
suffice  to  hook  and  hold  a  three-pounder.  But  on 
the  other  days  such  a  hook  hardly  seems  able  to 
inflict  a  scratch,  much  less  to  get  a  hold.  And  even 
the  sort  of  hook  you  use  for  a  Welshman's  button 
or  a  March  brown,  a  good  sensible  No.  3  or  No.  4, 
is  of  very  doubtful  efficacy.  Perhaps  the  trout 


A  PECK   OF   TROUBLES  233 

on  these  days  do  not  really  close  their  mouths  on 
the  fly,  and  when  one  tightens  on  them  the  hook 
gets  no  hold  at  all  or  at  best  an  indifferent  lodgement 
in  some  outlying  part  of  the  jaw. 

In  rather  similar  category  are  the  wet-fly  days 
on  which  there  are  many  rises  that  lead  to  nothing. 
Here  again  the  angler  is  prone  to  blame  himself, 
to  think  that  by  striking  more  swiftly,  or  more  slowly, 
he  might  have  made  better  use  of  the  opportunities. 
I  do  not  believe  that  this  is  so,  in  the  case  of  any 
angler  of  fair  skill.  I  think  that  the  trout  which 
rise  in  this  way,  making  a  lot  of  show  but  not  getting 
hooked,  do  not  mean  to  take  the  fly  at  all.  They 
are  interested  enough  to  gambol  close  to  it,  but 
not  to  make  trial  of  its  flavour. 

Nor  do  I  think  that  it  is  often  accurate  to  say 
that  a  trout  "  missed  "  the  fly.  It  does  happen 
sometimes  in  a  lake  when  a  fish  has  come  out  of  the 
deeps  that  he  "  loses  "  it,  but  the  angler  usually 
helps  there  by  pulling  it  out  of  the  water  prematurely. 
If  he  can  get  it  in  again  while  the  fish  is  still  looking 
about  like  a  terrier  for  a  vanished  rat,  he  will  pro- 
bably get  a  real  rise.  But  a  genuine  "  miss  "  must 
be  very  rare  even  in  rough  water.  A  trout  has  a 
very  good  aim,  though  he  is  perhaps  outdone  in 
this  by  a  grayling,  which  can  come  up  from  deep 
water  and  seize  a  fly  on  or  near  the  surface  with 
marvellous  precision. 


234  TROUT  FISHING 

Another  trouble,  frequent  on  the  chalk  streams 
though  less  met  with  on  other  waters,  is  weeds, 
both  on  and  below  the  surface.  The  miseries 
inflicted  by  weeds  floating  down  the  Test  or  Itchen 
on  fine  fresh  mornings  of  May  and  other  months 
could  inspire  a  whole  series  of  penitential  psalms, 
with  a  supplement  composed  of  versified  objurga- 
tions. Though  no  poet  myself,  I  would  gladly 
contribute  to  the  volume. 

There  is  perhaps  no  problem  of  the  chalk  streams 
which  produces  more  heart-burnings,  more  abuse 
of  one's  neighbours,  than  this,  unless  it  be  mudding 
carried  on  at  untimely  periods.  There  is  one  real 
remedy  for  it  and  only  one — that  every  fishery  should 
take  out  its  weeds  as  it  cuts  them.  When  the 
Hampshire  rivers  adopt  this  system — it  is  enforced 
by  the  conservators  on  the  Thames  and  its  tribu- 
taries, which  include  several  chalk  streams— 
the  first  weed  trouble  will  to  a  great  extent  have 
disappeared.  The  system  of  course  involves  some 
extra  expense  in  labour  and  in  the  provision  of 
weedracks,  fixed  or  movable,  but  considering  how 
valuable  chalk  stream  fishing  is  and  how  short 
its  season  I  think  the  outlay  ought  to  be  worth 
while. 

The  other  weed  trouble  is  caused  by  the  fish, 
which  like  their  weeds  thick  and  strong  and  handy. 


A  PECK  OF  TROUBLES  235 

Some  trout  are  much  more  prone  to  go  to  weed  than 
others.  I  remember  getting  several  good  trout  of 
about  two  pounds  from  the  Avon  one  hot  summer 
when  the  weeds  had  not  been  cut  for  some  time, 
and  each  fish  seemed  to  be  in  a  little  round  hole 
with  a  belt  of  thick  herbage  protecting  him  on  every 
side.  It  was  most  interesting  and  attractive  fishing 
because  there  was  little  or  no  fly,  and  hardly  any 
stream  in  the  holes,  and  one  had  to  stalk  one's 
quarry,  lying  near  the  surface  probably  from  force 
of  habit,  and  drop  a  Wickham  or  a  red  quill  as 
close  to  its  nose  as  possible.  The  trout  took  the 
fly  well  enough,  when  one  got  the  preliminaries  right, 
and  the  odd  thing  was  that  they  made  little  or  no 
use  of  the  weeds.  I  remember  no  interludes  of 
hand-lining.  Casualties  there  were,  certainly,  but 
mostly  due  to  my  custom,  when  possessed  by  panic, 
of  pulling  a  fly  away  from  a  fish  or  else  of  trying  to 
do  so  too  late  and  leaving  it  in  his  mouth.  Two- 
pounders  visible  in  small  round  holes  usually  give 
me  panic. 

As  a  contrast  to  this  fishing  I  remember  a  day  on 
the  Gloucestershire  Coin  when  fish  after  fish  ran 
straight  into  the  weeds  on  being  hooked  and  mostly 
remained  there.  Hand-lining,  which  is  effective 
in  some  cases,  was  useless  there  because  as  the  weeds 
were  not  very  thick  the  fish  improved  them  by 


236  TROUT  FISHING 

running  through,  then  coming  back,  and  if 
necessary  running  through  again.  They  were  very 
thorough  about  it. 

The  oddest,  and  perhaps  the  saddest,  experience 
I  ever  had  with  weeds  was  when  a  trout  in  a  branch 
of  the  Test  tried  the  expedient  of  diving  straight 
down  into  a  bed  after  a  high  jump  into  the  air. 
The  weeds  were  very  dense  and  the  unhappy  fish 
just  stuck  in  them  with  his  tail-end  in  the  air.  He 
could  not  move,  I  could  not  move  him,  it  was  too 
deep  to  wade,  so  I  was  forced  to  pull  the  line  till 
the  gut  broke  and  so  leave  the  affair.  Whether 
he  ever  escaped  I  do  not  know,  but  I  fear  not,  as 
some  hours  later  that  lamentable  tail  was  still  in 
the  same  position.  He  was  not  a  sizeable  fish  and 
would  have  been  duly  returned  had  he  not  tried 
what  our  airmen  call  "  stunts." 

Some  trout  fishing  troubles  are  less  tangible  than 
those  caused  by  wind,  weeds  and  other  things  that 
one  can  recognise  and  blame,  or  even  than  those 
caused  by  things  that  one  can  surmise,  such  as 
"  tired  "  rods.  One  of  the  queerest  perhaps  is  the 
depression  that  comes  of  failure  after  success,  the 
sense  of  futility  in  contrast  to  an  earlier  suspicion 
of  being  a  man  of  parts. 

A  priest  once  told  me  that  intellectual  pride  was 
a  very  grievous  sin,  and  I  believe  he  was  right. 
Like  all  grievous  sins,  too,  it  brings  its  proper 


A  PECK   OF  TROUBLES  237 

penalties,  sometimes  hastening,  sometimes  lagging, 
but  always  following  in  its  train.  Every  human 
preoccupation  may  lend  itself  to  the  indulgence 
of  this  pride,  fishing  no  less  than  the  others,  and 
I  know  that  the  sequence,  sin  first  and  penalty 
afterwards,  may  be  expected  by  the  river  as  in 
the  street,  the  mart,  or  the  chamber. 

One  Friday  evening  I  reached  Winchester  bliss- 
fully conscious  of  several  clear  days  for  leisure  and 
the  dry  fly.  Unhurried,  I  sauntered  to  the  Itchen 
with  about  an  hour  of  daylight  left,  and,  caring 
little  whether  I  killed  a  fish  or  no  (was  there  not 
store  of  days  in  front  ?),  tied  on  a  female  blue-winged 
olive.  I  was  proudly  conscious  that  it  was  a  female 
blue-winged  olive,  and  pleased  that  I,  who  never 
can  remember  these  subtle  distinctions,  actually 
had  remembered  them  and  profited  by  the  teaching 
of  the  master  a  short  while  back.  I  crossed  the  two 
planks,  threaded  my  way  through  the  little 
wood,  and  gained  the  meadow,  where  my  big 
fish  are  (they  are  not  really  mine;  the  wish  is 
parent  to  the  expression),  in  a  mood  quite  ripe 
for  committing  the  grievous  sin  hereinbefore  named. 

Everything  conspired  against  me.  I  found  four 
trout  rising.  Two  rose,  refused  the  fly,  and  went 
about  their  business.  The  others  I  killed  in  the 
inevitable  manner  that  marks  the  really  skilful 
dry-fly  angler.  A  well-judged  attack,  a  perfectly- 


238  TROUT  FISHING 

placed  fly,  a  timely  strike,  and  a  light  yet  controlling 
hand — these  distinguished  the  achievement;  and 
the  brace  weighed  respectively  one  pound  nine 
ounces  and  one  pound  ten  ounces — very  handsome 
fish.  Honour  thus  satisfied,  I  essayed  no  more 
slaughter,  but  turned  serenely  in  my  tracks  and 
strolled  homewards  through  the  dusking  meadows 
and  under  the  solemn  avenue  of  over-arching  trees. 

My  thoughts  ran  somewhat  as  follows  :  i4  Here 
am  I,  knowing  the  difference  between  blue -winged 
olives,  male  and  female,  which  in  itself  is  much. 
But  more  than  such  book-learning,  here  am  I  able 
to  profit  by  it.  Half  an  hour  by  clear-flowing 
Itchen,  and,  behold,  a  brace  of  noble  trout !  Marryat 
himself  could  have  shown  no  better  result.  If  I  am 
able  to  do  this  in  a  first  brief  thirty  minutes,  what 
shall  I  not  do  in  the  many  hundreds  of  minutes  which 
lie  before  me?  Positively  I  am  a  menace  to  a 
fishery ;  ut  puto  malleus  fio.  But  no,  I  will  not  tell 
the  tale  in  dozens.  I  will  hold  that  terrible  hand; 
I  will  hammer  discreetly.  And  my  reasonable 
number  of  trout  shall  be  made  up  only  of  the  finest 
and  fattest  specimens  that  Itchen  affords.  Two- 
pounders  I  will  retain;  the  rest  I  will  return." 

So  climbed  my  thoughts,  and  even  to  worse 
eminences,  which  I  forbear  to  describe.  It  only 
shows  what  a  great  and  besetting  sin  is  this  pride 
that  so  much  pother  should  come  of  a  brace  of 


A  PECK   OF  TROUBLES  239 

trout,  even  though  they  were  caught  not  unskilfully, 
as  still  I  maintain,  for  all  the  chastening  that  came 
after.  I  am  the  less  indisposed  to  say  so  because 
I  soon  felt  as  though  I  should  never  have  either  wit 
or  luck  to  catch  any  more  trout  at  all !  So  much 
for  the  sin,  and  now  for  the  chastening. 

On  Saturday  I  put  on  wading  stockings  because, 
as  everybody  knows,  they  are  extremely  useful 
for  kneeling  about  in  moist  places,  fending  off  the 
penetrating  attack  of  wet  grass,  and  so  on.  The 
result  of  this  was  that  everything,  moist  places, 
grass,  and  the  rest,  was  as  dry  as  a  bone,  thanks  to 
warm  sun  and  airs,  with  the  sole  exception  of  the 
waders  themselves — inside.  They  after  the  manner 
of  their  kind  condensed,  as  a  learned  friend  of  mine 
calls  it,  like  anything. 

They  were  heavy,  cumbrous,  and  the  plague  of 
my  life  as  I  toiled  from  place  to  place,  upstream 
to  get  sight  of  the  rumoured  four-pounder  below 
the  bridge  (and  I  saw  disturbances  which  might 
have  been  he),  downstream  to  the  little  inn  where 
tea  was  to  be  had,  and  close  to  which  a  fish  of  eight 
and  a  half  pounds  had  been  caught  on  bread  a  few 
days  before  (a  poor  spirited  fish,  so  the  landlord 
told  me,  which  fought  not  at  all),  and  round  and 
round  as  I  avoided  the  bull  who  lords  it  over  the 
meadow  which  is  the  gateway  of  the  fishery.  It 
is  two  gateways  really,  because  in  it  you  may  strike 


240  TROUT  FISHING 

either  the  main  river  or  a  side  stream.  And  when 
I  yearned  to  fish  the  one  there  was  the  bull  waiting  for 
me  in  the  path,  and  when  the  other  there  was  he 
also.  So,  of  course,  I  had  to  go  round  and  round. 
He  did  not,  I  think,  like  my  hat,  which  is  a  large 
hat  and  a  sensible ;  it  is  resented  by  all  four-footed 
beasts  and  by  some  who  have  only  two  feet. 

To  return,  nay  to  come,  to  the  fishing,  the  long, 
long  day  yielded  me  two  smallish  trout  and  one 
smallish  grayling,  and  as  for  skill,  and  comparisons 
with  Marryat,  and  nonsense  of  that  kind,  I  blushed 
for  that  self  of  the  evening  before.  After  losing 
five  or  six  fish  and  putting  down  all  the  others  there 
was  precious  little  pride  left  in  me.  I  crept  home 
under  the  now  gloomy  avenue  a  humble  man. 

On  Sunday  there  was  no  fishing,  but  a  great  peace 
born  of  glorious  music  echoing  down  the  cathedral, 
and  afterwards  of  slow  wanderings  round  the  pre- 
cincts, whose  fair  paths,  smooth  lawns,  and  ancient 
houses,  with  deep-blue  sky  overhead  and  sunlight 
flickering  through  the  trees,  are  like  a  dream-picture 
of  some  golden  age.  If  the  spirit  of  Walton  ever 
revisits  the  earth  it  surely  does  not  wander  far  1 

On  Monday,  still  humble,  but  refreshed  by  the 
spirit  of  old  Winchester,  I  came  to  the  fishing  again, 
hoping  for  a  modest  little  basket  which  might  enable 
me  to  work  off  an  obligation  or  so  by  means  of  a 
brace  of  trout  here  and  another  there.  But  I 


A   PECK   OF  TROUBLES  241 

had  not  yet  paid  my  penalties,  and  my  score  was 
one  smallish  trout  and  two  smallish  grayling,  with, 
imposed  on  this  defeat,  an  appalling  disaster. 
During  the  evening  rise,  which  was  not  a  rise  but 
a  display  of  "  oncers  "  (Red  Spinner,  all  men  thank 
thee  for  that  word  !),  I  hooked  the  biggest  trout  I 
ever  had  to  do  with  on  the  Itchen.  And  the  fly 
came  away  at  the  end  of  his  first  rush  of  nigh  thirty 
yards  !  Tuesday  may  be  summed  up  thus  :  wind, 
rain,  and  a  twelve-and-a-half-inch  grayling.  And 
so  back  to  London,  where  I  found  that  I  had  for- 
gotten how  to  distinguish  the  blue-winged  olives, 
male  and  female.  One  of  them  had  a  red  head, 
but  which  ? 

This  sort  of  thing  repeats  itself  in  my  fishing 
career,  for  I  still  cannot  forbear  to  congratulate 
myself  when  I  have  been  successful,  nor  do  I  cease 
sooner  or  later  to  regret  that  I  was  so  uplifted  in 
spirit.  I  suppose  similar  ups  and  downs  come  to 
everybody. 

There  is  of  course  no  end  to  the  fisherman's 
troubles  if  one  came  to  catalogue  them,  but  it  would 
be  a  needlessly  depressing  task.  We  anglers  do 
not  want  any  one  to  anatomise  Melancholy  for  us 
after  the  manner  of  old  Burton,  though  it  could  be 
done  with  the  proper  wealth  of  detail  and  illustra- 
tion. Melancholy  is  our  companion  often  enough, 
without  our  needing  to  scrutinise  her  every  feature. 


242  TROUT  FISHING 

But  there  are  some  troubles  which  one  might 
avoid  by  dwelling  on  them  a  little  and  especially 
those  which  are  brought  upon  us  by  the  actions 
of  others.  Like  all  other  fishermen  I  have  some 
store  of  memories  which  brings  this  lesson  home. 
There  was,  for  instance,  the  bright,  hot  day  on  the 
Kennet,  when  I  had  been  able  to  do  nothing  at  all. 
Nothing  in  particular  was  rising,  and  my  plan  in 
such  a  case  of  looking  for  fish  in  position  and  fishing 
by  sight  (often  good  for  a  brace  on  a  bad  day)  had 
been  brought  to  nought  by  the  fact  that  the  fish 
saw  me  long  before  I  could  see  them.  By  the  after- 
noon I  was  depressed  and  gloomy. 

Then  came  one  of  those  gleams  of  fortune  which 
sometimes  flash  athwart  the  darkest  hour.  I  saw 
a  rise,  which  was  repeated,  and  then  a  fine  big  fish 
cruising  about  in  a  quiet  corner.  It  was  a  real 
opportunity.  My  fly  was  taken  boldly,  and  I 
settled  down  to  a  long  fight.  I  dared  not  bustle 
the  fish,  because  the  gut  was  fine,  and  because  just 
below  was  a  hatch,  for  which  he  might  bolt  if  too 
much  agitated,  so  I  played  him  gently,  and,  in 
consequence,  for  a  much  longer  time  than  would 
have  been  the  case  ordinarily.  But  all  went  well, 
and  at  last  I  dipped  the  net  into  the  water  and  drew 
the  trout  towards  it. 

Then  a  voice  behind  me  said,  "  Good-afternoon." 
I  jumped,  and  looked  round,  to  find  an  amiable  son 


A   PECK   OF  TROUBLES  243 

of  the  soil  full  of  information  about  the  fineness  of 
the  weather.  And,  of  course,  as  I  looked  round  the 
line  slackened,  the  fly  lost  its  hold,  and  the  two- 
and-a-half -pound  trout  faded  away  out  of  reach. 
It  was  hard  in  such  circumstances  to  express  any 
interest  in  the  weather,  but  I  think  I  managed  it. 
My  friend  went  on  his  road  content,  and  I  believe 
he  never  realised  that  he  had  witnessed  a  tragedy 
at  all.  The  whole  fight  had  been  of  the  quietest, 
and  the  fish  never  splashed  or  swirled.  A  spectator 
might  well  have  been  ignorant  of  what  was  going 
on,  save  for  the  bent  rod.  Later  in  the  day  I  lost 
another  fish  of  equal  bulk,  which  did  not  cheer  me 
at  all. 

The  moral  of  this  incident  is  undoubtedly  this  : 
when  you  have  a  considerable  fish  seen,  rising,  risen 
or  hooked,  be  deaf  and  dumb  to  the  outside  world, 
unless  of  course  it  threatens  to  molest,  frighten, 
or  otherwise  interfere  with  the  said  fish.  In  that 
case  say  what  is  given  to  you  to  say.  You  will 
in  due  course  acquire  a  certain  reputation  for  aloof- 
ness, but  your  sport  will  improve. 

The  outside  world  is  not  much  considered  in 
fishing  meditations.  More  or  less  dimly,  however, 
every  angler  must  from  time  to  time  be  conscious 
of  an  alien  impinging  something  which  meets  him 
at  various  points  in  his  placid  career,  and  which 
has  on  him  effects  of  various  kinds,  according  to  his 


244  TROUT  FISHING 

circumstances  and  his  moods.  No  matter  how 
single-eyed  his  devotion  to  the  brave  pastime,  no 
matter  how  remote  the  solitudes  to  which  he  retires 
for  its  better  prosecution,  he  can  never  wholly 
be  free  from  the  possibility  of  collision  with  this 
something,  and  it  is  just  as  well  that  he  should 
realise  the  fact  and  be  prepared  to  accept  it. 

It  is  not  wise  for  a  man  to  be  betrayed  into  unseemly 
wrath,  unless  he  has  a  reasonable  prospect  of  carry- 
ing matters  through  with  a  high  and  heavy  hand. 
Nor  is  it  well  for  a  man  to  add  fuel  to  the  foolish 
fire  of  mirth  by  obviously  and  ridiculously  resenting 
the  guffaws  of  the  uninstructed.  Nor  should  the 
discreet  angler  unguardedly  permit  himself,  by 
some  scruple  of  weak  politeness  or  uncalculating 
good  nature,  to  act  on  such  advice  as  may  at  any 
moment  be  proffered  by  any  stray  comer.  Nor 
should  he  suffer  his  strong  mind  to  be  unnerved  by 
the  glare  of  apparently  stony  and  critical  eyes 
directed  upon  his  proceedings.  Nor  should  he— 
but  it  is  needless  to  tabulate  the  many  things  which 
are  inadvisable.  The  main  thing  is  that  those 
mentioned  and  the  others  implied  are  all  likely  to 
come  to  a  man  to  his  undoing,  unless  he  is  prepared 
to  meet  emergencies  and  to  suffer  untowardness 
with  some  measure  of  philosophy,  and  even  gladness. 

For  this  something  is  widespread  and  pervading. 
You  may  meet  it  in    curiously -topped   stockings, 


A  PECK   OF   TROUBLES  245 

spats,  and  an  eye-glass,  near  the  source  of  a  moun- 
tain-born streamlet ;  you  may  see  it  leaning,  collar- 
less  and  pipe  in  mouth,  over  the  chalk  stream  bridge ; 
you  may  hear  it,  loud-voiced  and  discordant, 
addressing  you  in  many-tongued  insult  from  the 
passing  char-a-banc ;  it  may  take  on  a  reverend  and 
misleading  guise,  as  with  whiskers  eloquent  of  a 
cathedral  close  and  a  hat  from  Messrs.  Vanheem 
and  Wheeler;  or  it  may  disturb  both  your  sport 
and  your  emotions  by  stepping  in  white  "  tempestu- 
ous petticoats,"  and  brandishing  a  white  parasol 
along  the  marge  of  the  crystal  river;  it  may  even 
appear  as  what  Homer  called  "  a  shameless  stone," 
hurled  from  a  safe  strategic  position  by  some 
probable,  but  unidentified,  small  boy.  There  are, 
in  fact,  endless  ways  in  which  the  Public  may  come 
into  touch  with  the  patient  men  (if  there  be  any 
patient  enough),  who  read  these  lines,  and  are 
otherwise  worthy  to  be  called  anglers. 

Not  all  these  ways  are  to  be  considered  as 
altogether  unfortunate,  though.  The  saving  grace 
of  humour  is  spread  over  some  of  them,  and  often 
an  incident  occurs  which,  rightly  considered,  should 
keep  a  man  happy  for  quite  a  long  time.  I  remember 
one.  It  happened  that  at  the  end  of  the  trout 
season  three  anglers,  all  famous  in  more  ways  than 
one,  were  sedately  taking  their  homeward  way  from 
a  famous  fishery  on  the  Itchen,  thinking,  I  make  no 


246  TROUT  FISHING 

doubt,  of  dinner,  the  day's  lack  of  sport,  the  weather, 
and  such  other  things  as  have  filled  the  minds  of 
returning  anglers  since  time  immemorial.  To  them 
appeared  a  fourth,  a  member  of  the  Public,  whom  I 
will  make  bold  to  conceal  as  Agricola,  and  some 
conversation  took  place  by  the  side  of  what  some  call 
a  carrier,  others  a  drawn,  others  a  ditch,  others  an 
eligible  bit  of  fishing,  two  miles  of  it,  one  on  each  side. 

Then  to  all  four  appeared  a  trout,  which  rose  twice 
within  tempting  distance.  A  trout  which  rises 
twice  when  you  are  going  home  (according  to  my 
experience)  is  not  a  fish  to  be  disregarded,  and  I  am 
not  a  bit  surprised  that  one  of  the  anglers  at  once 
unlimbered  for  the  attack.  Nor,  I  must  add,  am  I 
surprised  that  the  attack  ended  abruptly  in  the 
flight  of  the  trout — I  know  the  carrier  in  which  he 
lives,  and  if  I  have  not  known  him,  I  have  known 
several  of  his  brothers.  To  continue,  the  trout  was 
visible  in  the  clear,  shallow  water,  a  rapidly  diminish- 
ing form,  and  the  anglers,  recognising  the  inevitable, 
were  for  continuing  their  progress  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

Then  Agricola  rose  to  the  occasion.  Was  he, 
a  member  of  the  Public,  to  suffer  the  unfortunate 
disciples  of  Walton  to  go  away  discomfited  while 
he  had  legs  to  run  and  arms  to  wave  ?  Not  he. 
Like  the  intelligent  sheep-dog  of  the  mountain,  he 
was  after  the  trout  to  turn  it  in  its  tracks,  and  to 


A  PECK  OF  TROUBLES  247 

drive  it  back  to  the  place  whence  it  started,  the 
place  where  an  angler  could  easily  cover  it  with  a 
fly  again.  He  ran,  and  as  he  ran  he  promised  that 
he  would  do  these  things.  And  as  he  promised 
the  anglers  protested  that  his  labour  was  in  vain. 
Yet  still  he  ran. 

The  story  ends  there,  and  I  do  not  know  whether 
the  fish  was  caught,  turned,  and  driven  back.  I 
imagine  not.  Certainly  it  did  not  resume  its  posi- 
tion, begin  to  rise  again,  and  ultimately  succumb 
to  the  blandishments  of  GreenwelPs  Glory  or  what- 
ever the  fly  was.  If  that  had  happened,  naturally 
the  story  would  have  had  a  long  and  ecstatic  con- 
tinuation, and  I  should  have  had  to  put  it  in  another 
chapter.  As  things  are,  I  am  not  distracted  by  the 
intervention  of  miracles.  And,  indeed,  it  would 
be  a  miracle  if  any  member  of  the  Public  by  taking 
thought  ever  assisted  the  angler  to  catch  a  fish, 
because  members  of  the  Public  are  not  so  constructed 
as  to  understand  the  ways  of  fishes. 

It  is  only  necessary  to  reflect  on  some  of  the  cus- 
toms of  the  Public  to  realise  this.  How  often  have 
we  not  seen  a  worthy  gentleman,  obviously  possessed 
of  all  the  qualifications  for  being  a  kind  uncle  and  a 
good  churchwarden,  stop  athwart  our  rising  trout, 
stand  at  gaze  for  a  while,  and  then  make  vigorous 
pointing  motions  with  his  walking-stick.  How 
often  have  we  not  heard  him  say  as  he  pointed  : 


248  TROUT  FISHING 

"  There's  a  fine  fish  here,"  and,  after  a  little,  "  It's 
gone  away  now."  There  are  some  of  us  even  who 
have  had  the  evil  luck  to  be  assisted  by  just  such 
a  good  man  in  the  landing  of  a  fish.  I  once  had 
to  exercise  considerable  force  and  to  strain  a  promis- 
ing, though  incipient,  friendship  in  order  that  I 
might  take  the  landing-net  away  from  him.  He 
had  "  jabbed  "  horribly  three  times,  and  I  felt  that 
the  gut  would  not  stand  any  more  of  it.  Our  parting 
was  not  so  cordial  as  I  could  have  wished,  but  I  do 
not  see  what  else  could  have  been  done,  and,  anyhow, 
I  got  the  trout. 

It  is  not  so  very  long  since  I  read  in  some  pro- 
vincial paper  of  a  police-court  case  which  arose 
out  of  the  throwing  of  stones  at  a  float.  I  cannot 
remember  all  the  details,  but  the  float  was  certainly 
fons  et  origo  mali,  and  stones  were  thrown  at  it 
with  intent.  An  affray  followed  because  the  justly 
incensed  angler  was  not  of  the  meek  kind,  and  in  the 
end  the  thrower  was  mulcted  in  a  sum,  to  my  think- 
ing, scarcely  proportionate  to  the  gravity  of  his 
offence. 

Stones,  of  course,  represent  a  mood  in  the  public 
mind  quite  different  from  the  moods  which  provoke 
obvious  information,  unwanted  advice,  or  unskilled 
assistance.  Usually  they  are  symptomatic  of  youth. 
Hardly  any  small  boy  is  without  the  desire  to  throw 
a  stone  at  a  float.  Even  a  small  boy  who  is  also 


A  PECK   OF   TROUBLES  249 

a  fisherman  may  succumb  to  a  sudden  longing  of 
this  kind.  Well  do  I  remember  an  incident  which 
occurred  in  my  own  youth,  and  in  the  contem- 
poraneous youth  of  a  now  distinguished  surgeon. 
We  each  had  a  float,  and  we  were  both  overcome 
by  the  ballistic  impulse  at  the  same  moment.  Un- 
happily, we  also  went  armed  in  those  days,  and  the 
subsequent  duel  between  air-gun  and  catapult 
was  a  sad  affair.  I  can  still  feel  the  shrewd  smart 
of  a  marble  which  smites  the  calf  of  a  stockinged 
leg,  and  I  am  sometimes  reminded  that  the  slug 
from  an  air-gun  may  inflict  pain  even  less  endurable. 
Let  me  now  draw  a  veil  over  a  scene  of  carnage. 

Grown  persons,  I  am  glad  to  think,  do  not  throw 
stones  at  anglers  very  much,  except  in  out-of-the- 
way  places.  In  this  respect  manners  must  have 
mended  somewhat.  In  his  Fishing  Catechism 
Colonel  Meysey  Thompson  mentions  an  old  rule  in 
the  code  of  a  certain  fishing  club,  which  ran  :  "  Any 
one  throwing  stones  at  another's  line  will  be  severely 
dealt  with  by  the  committee."  I  am  glad  to  think 
that  such  a  rule  is  no  longer  wanted  as  between 
angler  and  angler.  As  between  Public  and  angler, 
I  don't  think  it  is  much  wanted  either,  which  is 
fortunate,  because  there  would  not  seem  to  be  much 
remedy  for  us  save  in  dignified  retreat  or  impetuous 
battle.  And  usually  the  Public  is  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river  when  it  does  throw  stones,  so,  unless 


250  TROUT  FISHING 

the  angler  can  throw  more  and  bigger  stones  with 
better  aim,  battle  is  less  admirable  than  flight. 

But  I  have  already  said  that  the  Public  does  not 
throw  stones  much,  and  generally  I  do  not  think 
it  hostile  to  us.  It  is  just  a  great  alien  thing,  which 
is  not  unfriendly  but  simply  does  not  understand. 
That  is  deplorable  from  one  point  of  view,  and  it 
leads  to  troubles  as  I  have  said,  but  there  are  com- 
pensations. If  the  Public  understood  it  would  also 
angle,  and  where  should  we  be  then  ?  It  would  be 
all  troubles  and  no  fish. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WEATHER   AND    WIND 

THE  books  of  the  rules  at  one  time  used  to  insist 
forcibly  on  the  desirability  of  a  cloudy  day  for  trout 
fishing,  and,  indeed,  some  of  them  do  so  still.  A 
theory  in  fishing,  once  it  has  taken  hold  of  people's 
minds,  takes  a  lot  of  uprooting,  not,  indeed,  that  it 
is  intended  here  to  suggest  that  the  praise  of  grey 
skies  is  altogether  mistaken.  Doubtless  there  are 
conditions  of  drought  and  calm  when  they  deserve 
all  that  can  be  said  for  them,  especially  if  they 
bring  the  much-needed  refreshment  for  the  parched 
earth  and  shrunken  streams.  But  without  depre- 
ciating unduly  the  value  of  dull  weather,  it  is 
certainly  possible  and  right  to  maintain  that  a  bright 
sun  is  not  the  foe  to  sport  which  some  authorities 
would  have  had  us  to  believe,  and  that  there  are 
times  when  it  is  even  necessary  to  successful  trout 
fishing.  You  have  only  to  consider  the  conditions 
of  a  normal  spring  to  appreciate  this.  For  days, 
perhaps  weeks,  the  wind  has  been  set  in  the  north 
or  east  and  skies  have  been  hard  and  steely.  If 

251 


252  TROUT  FISHING 

rain  has  fallen  it  has  been  first  cousin  to  snow  or 
sleet.  The  trout  have  been  backward  in  condition 
and  little  inclined  to  rise,  insect  food  being  very 
scarce.  Then  comes  a  change  of  wind  and  a  burst 
of  warm  sunshine.  Even  if  there  is  no  rain  to  speak 
of,  the  improvement  in  fishing  is  immediate,  for 
flies  appear  and  trout  rise  to  them. 

Looking  back  on  past  experiences,  the  angler 
does  not  find  any  lack  of  sunshine  in  the  retrospect. 
It  may  be  that  we  are  more  inclined,  as  is  the  sundial, 
to  record  the  bright  hours,  and  there  have  certainly 
been  bits  of  sport  enjoyed  when  the  weather  was  far 
from  delightful.  But,  for  all  that,  it  is  obvious  that 
a  great  many  of  our  best  days  have  been  lived  in  the 
countenance  and  favour  of  a  glorious  sun.  Big 
fish  or  big  baskets — it  does  not  matter — there  is 
proof  enough  that  the  sun  is  no  hindrance  to 
achieving  either  ambition,  while  it  is  certain  that  it 
helps  us  to  appreciate  our  luck  much  more  keenly. 

Once  it  is  settled  that  sunshine  is  not  bad  for  trout 
fishing,  it  becomes  a  matter  of  some  interest  to 
consider  why  anglers  used  to  think  that  it  was. 
Possibly  the  reason  lies  in  the  tackle  they  used. 
There  must  have  been  more  difficulty  in  approaching 
trout  in  days  when  a  very  long  rod  was  required  for 
throwing  even  a  moderately  long  line.  And  the 
old  artificial  flies  were  many  of  them  crude  pro- 
ductions of  great  size  as  compared  with  the  little 


WEATHER  AND   WIND  253 

things  we  use  to-day.  Certainly  they  would  show 
to  better  advantage  when  wind  and  weather  com- 
bined to  conceal  their  more  prominent  features. 
On  south-country  streams,  at  any  rate,  such  patterns 
attached  to  coarse  gut  would  not  stand  much  chance 
on  a  calm  day  under  a  bright  sun. 

These  are  possible  reasons  for  the  old  dislike  for 
sunshine.  But  there  is  another  thing  worth  con- 
sidering. Possibly  the  old  writers,  like  the  new,  did 
not  know  everything,  and  there  may  have  been 
plenty  of  silent  fishermen,  as  there  are  now,  who 
went  on  their  efficient  way  without  heeding  the 
rules  laid  down  for  them  by  the  prophets.  Experience 
is  the  best  teacher  after  all,  and  probably  at  no 
time  did  experience  ever  say  that  grey  was  always 
to  be  preferred  to  gold. 

On  the  whole,  except  in  grievous  droughts,  I 
would  always  have  it  sunny  when  I  go  trout  fishing, 
even  though  I  may  possibly  suffer  in  basket  thereby. 
One  very  definite  reason  which  I  have  for  this  is 
that  I  dearly  love  to  see  all  that  is  to  be  seen,  and 
more  especially  to  see  the  fish  which  I  am  trying  to 
catch.  In  some  conditions,  indeed,  I  feel  as  though 
I  could  not  catch  any  without  seeing  them. 

Take  a  rather  dour  river  like  the  upper  Kennet 
on  a  morning  in  July.  The  Mayfly  has  been  over 
some  time  and  there  is  little  to  bring  the  fish  up  to 
rise  steadily  before  the  evening.  Then  probably 


254  TROUT  FISHING 

they  will  come  on  to  blue-winged  olives  or  sedges 
with  much  the  same  eagerness  as  the  fish  of  Itchen 
or  Test.  But  in  the  daytime  there  is  considerably 
less  visible  activity  in  the  Kennet  than  in  either  of 
the  Hampshire  streams.  I  believe  that  a  good  deal 
could  be  done  to  make  it  a  "  better-rising  "  river, 
but  that  is  beside  the  present  question. 

The  fact  is,  that  on  the  Kennet  in  the  dog-days 
you  see  little  to  fish  for  if  you  judge  solely  by  rings 
on  the  surface.  And  yet  you  can  catch  trout,  and 
good  trout,  in  certain  places  if  you  give  your  mind 
to  the  business  of  hunting  for  them.  I  find  it  almost 
essential  to  have  the  help  of  strong  sunlight  and  a 
fairly  calm  surface,  because  my  aim  is  to  spot  the 
fish  and  to  try  and  tempt  them  without  necessarily 
having  seen  them  rise.  But  here  I  may  mention 
what  seems  to  me  an  odd  circumstance.  Supposing 
I  sat  on  a  seat  with  my  rod  spiked  in  the  traditional 
manner  and  waited  for  rises  to  appear,  hours  might 
pass  without  any  definite  encouragement  to  make  a 
cast.  But  if  I  prowl  slowly  along,  find  a  fish  lying 
quietly  near  the  bank,  and  watch  him,  it  is  very 
probable  that  in  a  few  minutes  I  shall  see  him  tilt 
himself  and  take  some  floating  trifle,  or,  which  is 
even  more  likely,  I  shall  see  him  turn  and  take 
something  beneath  the  surface.  What,  I  believe, 
it  amounts  to  is  that  many  fish  in  hot  weather  are 
feeding  so  quietly  that  from  a  little  distance  you 


WEATHER  AND   WIND  255 

would  never  detect  any  sign  of  movement.  The 
trout  that  you  stalk,  therefore,  may  well  be  rising 
fish  though  you  would  not  know  it  without  actually 
seeing  them.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  dwell  on 
the  fascination  of  trying  to  catch  such  visible  fish. 
To  watch  a  big  mouth  opening  and  shutting  on  one's 
fly  is  a  sensation  of  blissful  terror. 

Exactly  the  same  kind  of  fishing  is  possible  on 
wet-fly  streams  in  certain  conditions,  of  which  low 
water  is  one.  The  still  pools  and  flats  always  have 
a  number  of  trout  which  cruise  at  the  edge  of  the 
bushes  or  near  the  banks,  and  when  the  light  is 
favourable  you  can  see  and  fish  for  them.  But 
stalking  them  is  not  quite  the  same  thing  as  stalking 
chalk  stream  fish.  There  is  less  movement  about 
it.  You  get  better  results  by  standing  still  in  a 
likely  place  than  by  patrolling  the  banks.  For  the 
trout  themselves  are  moving,  in  and  out,  up  and 
down,  round  and  round,  and  sooner  or  later  one, 
two,  or  even  more  will  come  into  view.  A  single 
fly  accurately  delivered  will  generally  get  a  rise 
from  one  of  these  fish,  and  I  do  not  mind  whether 
it  floats  or  sinks.  Some  of  the  items  which  fall 
from  bushes  float,  some  probably  sink,  and  the 
trout  are  ready  for  either  proceeding. 

Sometimes,  of  course,  the  sun  makes  too  much  of 
himself  for  his  most  cordial  admirer.  There  are 
days  on  which  the  heat  in  the  open  meadows  is  too 


256  TROUT  FISHING 

great  for  any  exertion,  when  the  trout  are  dormant 
and  even  the  little  silvery  grayling  are  too  exhausted 
to  splash  about  on  the  shallows  in  their  peculiar 
and  rather  annoying  manner.  The  big  hatch-hole, 
where  the  great  trout  may  usually  be  seen  cruising, 
is  a  horrid  sight,  a  vast  bed  of  weeds  going  round  and 
round  like  the  dappled  horses  at  a  fair.  Even  the 
abstract  interest  of  speculating  why  weeds  can 
revolve  for  ever  on  an  eddy  without  being  swept 
into  the  main  current,  and  so  carried  away  down- 
stream, yields  at  length  to  indignation  that  such 
things  should  be,  to  amazement  that  perfect  chalk 
stream  fisheries  should  have  the  almost  inevitable 
drawback  of  other  people's  weeds  whenever  one  is 
privileged  to  visit  them. 

Lunch  is  eaten  in  melancholy,  and  the  conviction 
of  an  impending  blank  grows  more  profound.  Not 
a  dun  has  been  seen  all  the  morning.  Yesterday, 
in  like  weather,  not  a  dun,  or  hardly  a  dun,  was  seen 
from  morn  till  eve ;  the  prospects  of  a  rise  of  fish 
are  remote,  especially  as  each  evening  the  sky  is 
overcast  with  heavy  masses  of  cloud,  masses  which 
threaten  thunder,  yet  do  not  perform,  masses  which 
make  the  light  bad  and  the  fishing  hopeless.  The 
effect  of  meditation  on  a  bad  day  is  not  conducive 
to  energy,  but  all  is  not  yet  lost.  The  other  side  of 
the  river,  perhaps,  might  disclose  a  fish  smutting 
close  to  the  bank.  A  path  runs  across  the  sluice- 


WEATHER  AND  WIND  257 

gate  bridge,  through  a  bed  of  withies  (in  each  of 
which  the  aggravating  rod  manages  to  entangle 
itself),  and  so  to  a  plank  across  a  carrier.  Up  this 
the  eye  travels,  for  it  is  a  pleasant  sight  on  such  a 
day,  its  water  being  cool,  clear,  and,  above  all, 
shaded.  Happy  thought !  Why  not  follow  it  up  ? 
There  must  be  trout  in  it,  for  all  such  streamlets 
in  a  chalk  stream  country  hold  trout,  if  only  they  are 
permanent  and  not  mere  channels  of  temporary 
irrigation.  Trout  or  no,  one  thing  is  certain;  this 
little  tree-shaded  rush-girt  brook  is  the  coolest 
place  within  miles,  and  that  alone  is  inducement 
enough  to  explore  on  such  a  day. 

There  are  some  signs  of  fish,  too.  Waves  in  all 
directions  prove  it,  waves  caused  by  the  appearance 
of  the  angler's  head  over  the  rushes  at  the  first 
corner.  The  advance  was  most  cautious,  too,  with 
nothing  sudden  about  it.  If  you  want  to  look  for 
a  trout,  you  must  move  very  slowly,  and  the  rule 
was  carefully  observed,  yet  there  are  the  waves  to 
show  failure.  Ah,  there  is  a  fish  1  Its  forked  tail 
and  slim  shape  show  it  to  be  a  dace,  which  explains 
matters.  Dace  in  the  first  place  have  bad  con- 
sciences, and  in  the  second  swim  in  companies, 
which  makes  them  harder  to  approach  in  such  a 
small  stream  than  trout.  Many  pairs  of  eyes  give 
them  an  advantage.  Once  disturbed,  however, 
they  are  not  necessarily  uncatchable  as  a  trout 


258  TROUT  FISHING 

would  be ;  if  you  keep  still,  they  will  generally  return 
in  two  or  three  minutes,  and  then  you  can  catch  one 
as  though  they  had  never  been  frightened  at  all. 
A  trout,  on  the  other  hand,  takes  disturbance  hardly, 
except  in  waters  where  he  is  accustomed  to  human 
beings.  There  he  will  hasten  away,  and  return 
almost  at  once.  In  streams  where  he  hardly  ever 
sees  a  man,  the  sight  of  such  a  thing  gives  him  a 
serious  panic,  and  he  will  very  likely  appear  no 
more  for  hours. 

Proof  of  this  is  afforded  presently.  After  several 
bends  and  corners  have  been  explored  without  the 
sight  of  anything  but  a  few  more  dace,  a  bold, 
spreading  rise  is  observed  under  some  bushes  at  the 
head  of  a  long,  straight  reach,  and  between  an 
island  of  rushes  and  the  far  bank.  Nearer  inspection 
reveals  the  cause,  a  fine  trout  which  comes  out  from 
under  a  bush,  takes  some  invisible  fly  and  retires  to  his 
holt.  By  reason  of  obstructions  there  is  only  one  way 
of  covering  him  properly,  and  that  is  to  take  to  the 
water,  wade  cautiously  up  behind  the  rushes,  and  then 
to  switch  a  short  line  under  the  bush.  This  manoeuvre 
is  effected  with  the  utmost  care — it  takes  some  ten 
minutes — and,  behold,  the  trout  has  fled  !  He  must 
have  seen  something,  despite  all  precautions,  and 
a  long  wait  neither  reveals  whither  he  has  gone  nor 
brings  him  back.  The  angler  goes  on  sadder,  but 
not  much  wiser ;  he  does  not  see  how  he  could  have 


WEATHER  AND  WIND  259 

been  more  like  the  proverbial  Red  Indian.  A  little 
higher  up  is  observed  a  tiny  rise,  evidently  from  a 
dace.  But,  no,  as  it  is  repeated,  there  is  a  slight 
disturbance  below  the  dimple,  which  shows  that 
the  fish's  tail  is  a  long  way  from  its  nose.  Obviously 
this  is  a  trout,  and  a  good  one. 

Again  there  is  a  slow,  stealthy  descent  into  the 
stream,  and  knee-deep  the  angler  waits,  hardly 
daring  to  draw  breath,  for  the  rise  to  be  repeated. 
The  spot  where  the  fish  lies  is  flecked  with  sunlight, 
which  finds  its  way  through  the  interlacing  twigs 
of  the  bushes  on  the  bank,  and  if  there  is  a  move- 
ment one  ought  to  be  able  to  see — confound  it  all, 
one  can  see,  and  the  beast  is  but  a  small  one  after 
all,  barely  three-quarters  of  a  pound  from  the  look 
of  his  back.  Never  mind,  after  all  this  trouble, 
have  at  him.  The  Welshman's  button  drops  just 
above,  a  gentle  rise  is  followed  by  a  slow  strike,  and — 
by  Jove,  it  is  not  a  little  one  after  all.  The  indig- 
nant swirl  shows  that  he  is  a  fine  fellow.  Bushes 
to  left,  roots  of  a  stump  to  right,  weeds  above,  and 
bushes  below,  there  is  only  one  way  of  playing  a 
heavy  trout  on  light  gut  here — with  a  light  hand. 
Whenever  he  gets  near  danger,  ease  the  pressure; 
whenever  he  wants  his  head  coax  him  back.  It 
takes  time,  but  it  secures  a  fish  which,  with  the 
least  rough  treatment,  would  bolt  like  a  runaway 
horse,  and  smash  you  all  to  pieces.  At  last  the 


260  TROUT  FISHING 

angler  steps  out  on  to  the  bank  with  a  beauty,  all 
red,  brown,  and  gold,  in  the  meshes  of  the  net.  Ah, 
a  pound  and  three-quarters  good  weight,  and  so 
home  to  tea  well  content ! 

The  sun  has  his  advantages  even  when  there  is 
too  much  of  him,  if  he  drives  the  angler  to  the  shady 
places  and  so  promotes  sport  of  this  thoroughly 
attractive  kind. 

The  late  Mr.  F.  G.  Aflalo,  whose  premature  death 
has  recently  been  so  much  deplored  by  all  honest 
anglers,  once  compiled  a  very  interesting  book 
called  Fishermen's  Weather.  In  it  he  assembled  the 
views  of  a  large  number  of  prominent  anglers  on 
the  affect  of  various  kinds  of  weather  on  their  sport. 

I  am  not  sure  that  anything  very  definite  in  the 
way  of  precept  emerged  from  all  that  mass  of  evi- 
dence. How  should  it  indeed  ?  For  the  ordinary 
angler's  invariable  rule  is,  and  from  the  nature  of 
things  must  be,  "  Fish  on  and  hope  for  the  best." 
The  collection  of  data  may  affect  the  intensity  of  his 
hope,  according  as  it  indicates  favourable  conditions 
or  unfavourable,  but  it  will  hardly  affect  the  question 
whether  he  fishes  or  not.  If  accumulated  experience 
says,  "  You  will  have  very  little  sport,"  he  will 
probably  retort,  "  There  is  always  an  off-chance." 

As  indeed  there  is,  especially  in  trout  fishing.  I 
have  pretty  definite  ideas  as  to  the  effect  of  certain 
kinds  of  weather  on  some  other  fish — for  instance, 


WEATHER  AND  WIND  261 

I  am  convinced  that  a  big  drop  in  the  barometer 
with  the  approach  of  heavy  rain  or  wind,  or  both, 
is  very  bad  for  pike  fishing — but  I  have  no  settled 
convictions  in  regard  to  trout.  They  seem  to  me 
less  affected  by  weather,  and  even  by  violent  changes 
than  any  other  fresh-water  fish,  and  I  never  saw  a 
day  yet  which  I  should  honestly  describe  as  hopeless, 
except  by  reason  of  the  water  being  too  thick  or 
flooded  for  fishing.  There  are  very  bad  days,  of 
course,  on  which  you  cannot  expect  to  catch  much, 
but  there  are  no  days  on  which  you  may  not  hope 
to  catch  something. 

Extremes  of  heat  or  cold,  days  of  thundery 
depression  or  of  bad  light  owing  to  the  east-wind 
"  glare  " — these  seem  to  be  the  worst  in  themselves, 
and  the  day  of  bad  light  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  list. 
Rain,  whether  steady  or  intermittent,  is  unpleasant 
for  the  angler,  but  it  is  not  necessarily  hostile  to  his 
sport.  Some  of  the  best  hatches  of  fly  I  have  ever 
seen  have  occurred  on  very  wet  days.  I  remember 
one  Mayfly  day  whose  morning  soaked  me  to  the 
skin  through  mackintosh  and  everything.  I  changed 
at  lunch  time,  borrowed  more  mackintoshes,  and 
fared  forth  again  to  find  the  rain  as  hard  as  ever. 
But  early  in  the  afternoon  the  fly  came  on  and  the 
trout  began  to  rise  with  a  heartiness  that  I  have 
never  seen  surpassed.  Every  fish  which  I  covered 
took  my  fly  properly.  Circumstances  over  which 


262 


TROUT  FISHING 


I  had  insufficient  control — such  as  nerves,  hand  and 
so  on — combined  to  make  the  basket  unimpressive 
in  relation  to  the  opportunities.  But  that  was  not 
the  fault  of  the  weather  or  the  fish. 

I  do  not  like  fishing  in  heavy  rain,  but  that  is  not 
because  I  expect  to  find  the  trout  out  of  humour. 
I  have  seen  such  brave  doings  in  spite  of  rain  that 
on  the  whole  I  am  surprised  if  there  is  not  a  good 
rise  at  some  time  on  the  wettest  day.  It  is  mere 
human  weakness  that  makes  me  prefer  a  dry  jacket 
even  if  the  rise  is  not  quite  so  good. 

Even  more  does  human  weakness  prejudice  me 
against  wind.  Frankly,  I  hate  wind  when  I  am 
trout  fishing,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that,  like  rain,  it 
seems  sometimes  to  induce  a  good  hatch  of  fly  and 
consequently  a  rise  of  fish.  Often,  I  must  admit, 
the  wind  is  really  no  great  matter,  though  it  has 
great  power  to  annoy.  The  gusty  puffs  which 
wreck  an  occasional  delivery,  crack  off  a  fly  here  and 
there,  or  cause  the  gut-cast  to  wrap  itself  round  the 
rod  now  and  again — these,  though  a  stimulus  to 
what  is  pleasantly  called  "  langwidge,"  in  very  old 
as  well  as  in  new  spelling — these  puffs  can  be  endured. 
They  colour,  but  they  need  not  destroy,  a  day's 
fishing.  Once  a  foolish  fish,  or  an  exhibition  of 
fancied  skill,  has  improved  the  mental  condition, 
the  puffs  have  to  a  large  extent  lost  their  power  to 
madden.  Recovered  sanity  makes  it  plain  that  a 


WEATHER  AND  WIND  263 

breath  of  wind  more  or  less  does  not  ruin  one's  sport, 
and  one  learns  to  watch  the  grass  or  the  reeds  for 
signs  of  an  approaching  gust.  Eventually  one 
becomes  quite  complacent  and  satisfied.  Cheating 
and  beating  the  wind  is  after  all  not  a  fiction  of 
the  poets.  It  is  more  than  that — an  actual  possi- 
bility. It  is  more  even  than  that — an  accomplished 
fact.  An  excellent  demonstration  has  been  going 
on  all  day,  had  any  learner  been  there  to  benefit 
by  it.  But  there  are  two  and  a  half  brace  of  eloquent, 
though  silent,  witnesses. 

And  so  a  dry-fly  man,  after  a  time  of  easy  airs, 
may  come  to  believe  himself  in  truth  able  to  captain 
his  soul  against  any  wind  that  blows.  "  My  dear 
fellow,"  he  will  say,  "  it's  all  a  question  of  manage- 
ment. Slowly  does  it.  Don't  hurry,  and  don't 
forget  the  downward  cut."  And  he  will  say,  "  Oh, 
I  don't  much  bother  about  wind.  I've  got  a  power- 
ful rod  and  a  heavy  line."  And  he  will  smile  the 
sort  of  smile  that  he  conceives  Marryat  to  have 
worn  when  consulted  about  the  first  beginnings  of 
knowledge. 

Then,  without  warning,  comes  the  day  of  annihila- 
tion. It  is  often  a  deceptive  sort  of  day,  breaking 
fair,  and  showing  adequate  patches  of  blue  amid  the 
heavy  clouds  that  roll  up,  and  on,  towards  noon. 
From  the  haven  among  the  trees  and  backed  by  the 
hill  one  would  at  starting  be  prepared  to  assert 


264  TROUT  FISHING 

that  the  day  was  going  to  be  calm,  or  at  worst  no 
more  violent  than  may  be  managed  by  the  skill 
already  mentioned.  But  when  the  river  is  reached, 
such  fond  imaginings  have  to  yield  to  solid  and 
unpleasant  fact.  The  wind  is  much  more  than  a 
rustle  among  tree-tops.  It  is  a  potent  reality, 
which  makes  the  dry-fly  man  clutch  his  hat  and 
debate  within  him  whither  he  shall  go  for  shelter, 
so  that  he  may  find  a  quiet  stretch  of  water  where 
flies  and  rises  shall  be  visible,  and  where  it  may  be 
possible  to  cast  without  having  to  put  out  all  the 
skill  which  is  in  him.  Of  course,  it  would  be  possible 
to  fish  in  the  exposed  parts,  for  a  man  who  knows 
his  business;  but  still,  the  bow  should  not  always 
be  bent,  and  it  is  wise  to  reserve  some  measure  of 
strength. 

Accordingly  search  is  made  for  the  quiet  place 
desired.  Just  below  the  bridge — that  is  the  spot — 
and  steps  are  taken  thither.  But  on  actual  trial 
the  place  is  not  so  sheltered  as  it  seems.  True,  the 
water  is  not  lashed  into  foam  as  lower  down,  and  two 
or  three  rises  can  be  seen  on  the  broad  shallow,  but 
when  it  comes  to  covering  them,  the  line  is  taken  by 
a  sort  of  whirlwind  and  deposited  suddenly  and 
forcibly  on  the  bank,  the  gut  being  coiled  ingeniously 
in  and  out  of  the  herbage,  so  that  it  needs  patient 
disentangling.  Nothing  daunted,  though  possibly 
a  little  surprised,  the  angler  tries  again,  putting 


WEATHER  AND  WIND  265 

more  power  into  the  cast.  This  time  there  is  a  lull 
in  the  wind,  and  the  line  comes  upon  the  water  like 
a  flail,  putting  two  of  the  rising  trout  down  at  its 
one  fell  swoop.  Then  follows  another  struggle 
with  the  herbage,  and  then  a  third  rising  fish  is  put 
down,  and  lastly  the  fly  hits  the  top  of  the  rod  with 
a  crack,  which  suggests  that  both  must  be  broken. 
After  this  the  angler  wonders  whether  conditions 
would  not  be  better  on  the  other  bank,  where  the 
trees  are,  and  he  goes  round  to  see. 

They  are  not  better,  only  different.  It  proves 
that  on  this  side  the  wind  comes  straight  down  on 
the  water  and  then  rebounds  upwards.  On  its  first 
rebound  it  takes  cast  and  fly  with  it  into  the  maze 
of  young  greenery,  and  there  they  remain  probably 
till  autumn  does  her  beneficent  work  of  decay.  The 
angler  goes  away  from  the  bridge,  and  starts  on  his 
pilgrimage  in  search  of  calm.  Up,  down,  back- 
wards, forwards,  round,  behind,  in  front — there  is 
no  peace  anywhere.  The  wind  is  all-embracing, 
all-compelling.  It  absolutely  fills  the  whole  of  that 
valley,  and  no  nook  or  corner  is  safe  from  it.  And 
everywhere  it  is  resolutely  set  with  its  face  down- 
stream. 

What  is  the  result?  The  dry-fly  man  struggles 
on  desperately  till  lunch  time,  and  with  despairing 
eye  watches  the  morning  rise  gradually  petering 
out  into  occasional  belated  splashes  from  yearlings, 


266  TROUT  FISHING 

which  are  quite  useless  to  him.  At  last,  with  fury 
in  his  heart  and  emptiness  in  his  basket,  he  eats 
his  wretched  sandwiches,  sips  from  his  inadequate 
flask,  and  spends  seven  matches  in  the  task  of  pipe- 
lighting.  Then  he  rises  in  his  might,  puts  on  a  big 
March  brown  or  an  alder,  and  becomes  a  wet-fly 
man.  It  is  sad  to  have  to  tell  it,  but  for  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  he  "  rakes  "  away  downstream  in  the 
most  abandoned  fashion. 

It  is  more  cheering  to  finish  the  tale — it  is  really 
a  true  history  of  a  real  day's  angling.  After  some 
hours  of  raking,  the  angler  desists  and  retires.  And 
his  summary  of  the  day's  sport  given  to  a  kind 
inquirer  is  :  "  No,  not  a  good  day.  A  few  little 
things  returned,  that's  all."  "  Brother,"  said  Mr. 
Petulengro,  "  there's  the  wind  on  the  heath." 
"  Brother,"  I  would  reply,  "  by  all  means.  And 
let  it  stay  there.  We  don't  want  it  on  the  river." 

We  get  it  on  the  river,  of  course,  in  full  measure, 
as  we  get  so  many  other  unpleasant  things  that 
make  up  what  we  call  our  weather.  But  we  go  on 
fishing  all  the  same.  So  it  is  not  much  use  com- 
plaining. And  every  now  and  then  we  get  one  of 
those  perfect  days  which  make  all  the  rest  worth 
while.  So  we  have  nothing  really  to  complain  about. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

NEW   WATERS 

THE  chief  need  of  the  trout  fisher  nowadays  is 
more  trout  fishing,  especially  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  big  centres  of  population,  or  at  any  rate 
within  possible  reach  of  them.  It  is  daily  becoming 
more  difficult  for  the  ordinary  man  to  get  any  sport 
worth  mentioning  without  going  a  long  way  for  it, 
and  without  paying  a  good  deal  of  money  into  the 
bargain.  As  for  rights  of  fishing  on  the  famous 
south-country  streams  such  as  the  Test  and  Itchen, 
they  are  almost  out  of  the  question  except  for  the 
wealthy.  And  even  rich  men  may  be  heard  lament- 
ing that  they  cannot  get  a  bit  of  chalk  stream  for 
love  or  money. 

If  you  go  further  afield  you  can  get  fishing 
enough.  The  hill-districts  of  Great  Britain  are 
mostly  well  supplied  with  trout  streams,  and  in  some 
parts  there  are  lakes  which  add  to  the  opportunities. 
Also  in  those  districts  there  are  quite  good  facilities 
for  the  stranger  who  turns  up  with  a  rod.  Associa- 
tion or  hotel  waters  give  him  considerable  scope. 

The  fishing  of  the  hill-districts  is,  however,  for 

267 


268  TROUT  FISHING 

the  most  part,  a  matter  of  the  wet  fly  and  of  small 
trout,  and  though  it  has  points  of  superiority  to 
other  fishing,  it  does  not  satisfy  all  cravings.  The 
man  who  has  once  known  the  pride  of  a  three- 
quarter-pound  average  weight  will  always  yearn 
to  repeat  the  experience  from  time  to  time,  even 
though  he  enjoys  the  five-to-the-pound  day  as 
keenly  as  ever.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  bigger  trout 
which  are  hard  to  come  by,  and  this  is  chiefly  for 
geographical  reasons.  The  streams  which  naturally 
produce  them  in  abundance  lie,  for  the  most  part, 
near  great  cities  and  especially  near  London.  There- 
fore they  have  become  highly  valuable  and  much 
prized.  It  is  a  significant  fact  that  for  many  years 
the  only  part  of  the  Itchen  on  which  it  has  been 
possible  to  get  day  tickets  has  been  the  short  length 
at  Winchester  known  as  "  Chalkley's,"  while  on 
the  Test,  so  far  as  I  know,  it  is  not  possible  to  get  a 
day  ticket  anywhere.  The  other  chalk  streams 
are  hardly  more  hospitable  to  the  casual  fisherman. 
The  Chess  and  other  Buckinghamshire  and  Hert- 
fordshire rivers,  the  Meon,  Hamble,  Whitewater, 
Lyde,  Wylye,  Frome,  Avon — as  trout  streams, 
these  and  others  like  them  are  practically  closed 
to  the  public.  There  are  some  small  facilities  on 
the  Kennet,  and  on  the  Gloucestershire  Coin,  but 
generally  speaking  there  is  no  public  fishing  in 
any  of  our  southern  waters  which  rise  in  the  chalk 


NEW   WATERS  269 

and  which  ure  famous  for  their  trout.  A  man  has 
to  travel  to  Derbyshire  before  he  gets  anything  like 
a  good  extent  of  available  water  producing  fish 
bigger  than  those  of  the  ordinary  mountain  streams. 

This  is  a  melancholy  story,  and  it  is  not  easy  to 
see  how  the  situation  may  be  bettered  so  far  as  the 
chief  trout  streams  are  concerned.  It  has  always 
been  a  matter  of  surprise  to  me  that  some  enter- 
prising person  has  not  taken  a  good  length  of  one 
of  the  best  chalk  streams  with  the  definite  object 
of  making  a  ticket -water  of  it.  As  an  annexe  to  an 
hotel  I  should  have  thought  it  could  be  made  to 
pay  handsomely.  The  thing  has  not  been  done 
so  I  suppose  it  has  not  seemed  a  sufficiently  safe 
venture. 

Though  we  may  have  to  rule  out  the  famous 
streams  from  our  imaginings  of  a  world  better  found 
in  trout  fishing,  I  do  not  think  we  need  therefore 
give  up  hope  of  improvement.  There  is  much  water 
in  England  which  is  undeveloped  and  which  might 
be  made  quite  productive  if  it  was  taken  seriously 
in  hand.  There  is  much  land  which  could  be  turned 
into  water  with  a  little  engineering  skill,  some  labour, 
and  a  certain  amount  of  expense,  land  at  present 
of  small  value  for  any  agricultural  purpose  except 
as  very  rough  grazing.  A  survey  of  the  more 
southerly  counties  would,  I  am  sure,  suggest  a 
surprising  wealth  of  possibilities. 


270  TROUT  FISHING 

Of  course  there  are  many  difficulties  to  be  over- 
come. Pollution  has  played  the  mischief  in  some 
districts ;  in  others  the  available  waters  are  already 
occupied  by  coarse  fish;  in  others  the  rumour 
of  an  extant  trout  is  enough  to  rouse  the  neighbour- 
hood with  all  its  lethal  weapons  ready  for  the  pro- 
digy's destruction.  But  nearly  all  difficulties  can 
be  dealt  with  by  perseverance  and  ingenuity.  Pollu- 
tion could  in  many  cases  be  abated  by  amicable 
arrangement.  In  regard  to  coarse  fish,  a  working 
compromise  could  be  reached — it  is  not  impossible 
for  good  trout  to  co-exist  with  numbers  of  coarse 
fish  so  long  as  the  water  suits  them ;  and  destructive 
neighbourhoods  could  doubtless  be  educated  to 
higher  standards  by  improved  opportunities.  The 
existence  of  one  trout  per  mile  invites  counsels 
of  despair  such  as  guns  or  night-lines.  But  the 
appearance  of  many  trout  would  turn  men's  thoughts 
to  flies. 

I  have  seen  some  interesting  and  hopeful  experi- 
ments in  making  trout  fishing  out  of  nothing  more 
or  less,  and  I  am  sure  that  much  more  might  be 
done  in  this  way.  It  needs  co-operation  and  it 
calls  for  patience.  Anglers  must  learn  to  look 
forward  to  a  rather  distant  future  if  they  are  seeking 
to  put  a  new  trout  fishery  on  an  established  footing. 
It  takes  two  or  three  years  for  young  trout  to  grow 
to  a  good  size  and  to  start  breeding  properly,  and 


NEW  WATERS  271 

it  is  the  breeding  that  one  most  hopes  for.  Once 
it  has  come  about  that  a  stream  can  every  year 
show  a  certain  number  of  indigenous  fry,  it  may  be 
assumed  that  everything  is  going  well.  Artificial 
stocking  may  still  perhaps  be  carried  on  with  advan- 
tage if  there  is  a  good  deal  of  fishing,  but  one  has 
the  comfortable  assurance  that  the  new  fish,  if 
they  survive  the  rods,  will  settle  down  as  useful 
naturalised  citizens  of  the  community  into  which 
they  have  come. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  experiments  in  making 
a  trout  stream  which  I  have  had  the  opportunity 
of  studying  was  carried  out  on  a  little  river  in  the 
Home  Counties  a  few  years  ago.  It  was  one  of 
those  neglected  waters  which  had  been  given  over 
to  small  coarse  fish,  probably  because  no  one  ever 
thought  it  would  be  fit  for  anything  else.  A  group 
of  friends,  however,  had  the  luck  to  stumble  on  it 
as  they  stepped  out  of  London  (so  to  speak)  one 
day,  cast  a  discriminating  eye  upon  it,  and  divined 
that  though  then  practically  derelict  it  was  capable 
of  serving  worthy  purposes,  among  them  that  of 
supplying  hard- worked  people  with  trout  fishing 
at  a  very  small  outlay  of  time  in  travelling.  Doubt- 
less they  were  influenced  by  the  fact  that  the  brook 
— it  is  little  more  than  that — ran  through  a  delight- 
ful valley  of  its  own,  with  downs  swelling  up  on 
either  side,  and  with  plenty  of  boskage  all  about 


272  TROUT  FISHING 

to  cut  off  the  view  of  a  world  which  is  always  too 
much  with  us  inside  the  forty-mile  radius.  Doubt- 
less, also,  they  found  that  the  streamlet,  albeit 
not  strictly  belonging  to  the  chalk,  was  pretty 
well  and  constantly  supplied  with  water,  which  is 
no  small  matter  in  the  history  of  a  river.  Perhaps, 
too,  there  were  traditions  which  told  of  trouting  there 
in  the  past. 

This,  indeed,  was  my  first  thought  as  I  surveyed 
the  stream  while  I  put  my  tackle  together.  "  Surely," 
I  said  to  the  keeper,  "  there  were  some  big  trout 
here  before  ? "  "  Well,"  he  replied,  "  when  we 
netted  the  pool  below  the  mill  we  only  got  two, 
besides  the  dace  and  things."  "  And  were  they 
big?"  I  asked.  "About  eight  or  nine  inches," 
was  the  answer.  Which  seemed  pretty  conclusive, 
for  if  there  be  big  trout  anywhere,  obviously  the 
place  in  which  to  find  them  is  the  pool  below  a 
milL 

So  it  was  reasonable  to  assume  that  when  taken 
in  hand  the  stream  was  in  no  sense  a  trout  water, 
though  the  existence  of  a  small  one  here  and  there 
argued  that  it  should  be  capable  of  that  develop- 
ment. And  the  sequel  proved  the  justice  of  the 
contention.  The  discovery  resulted  in  the  forma- 
tion of  a  little  club,  in  a  spell  of  intensive  water 
culture,  and  in  the  ultimate  creation  of  as  delightful 
a  little  trout  stream  as  soul  could  desire.  Within 


NEW  WATERS  273 

the  limits  of  the  fishery,  some  three  miles  perhaps, 
I  found  every  type  of  water — brattling  shallows, 
deep,  swirling  holes,  ripples  under  tree  roots,  dry-fly 
glides,  and  also  some  of  that  almost  dead  water, 
where  trout  cruise  round  and  round  and  give  the 
angler  such  fascinating  problems  as  to  getting  his 
fly  to  the  right  spot  at  the  right  moment.  All  through 
there  was  every  indication  of  really  intelligent 
management,  as  might  be  expected  of  an  enterprise 
undertaken  by  experts,  and  it  was  evident  that  the 
right  weeds  were  being  encouraged,  that  mud  had 
been  sedulously  removed,  and  that  the  stream  had 
been  coaxed  into  its  most  suitable  channels — even 
a  little  brook  running  through  pretty  "  stiff " 
country  is  liable  to  make  mistakes  of  direction. 
An  accumulation  of  mud,  for  instance,  may  easily 
divert  the  flow  from  one  side,  where  bushes  offer 
good  cover  to  the  fish,  to  the  other,  where  there 
is  no  such  advantage.  Good  keepering  is  not  un- 
mindful of  such  things  as  that. 

What  of  the  fish  ?  Well,  I  came  upon  them  on 
a  very  bright  day  after  a  sharp  night  frost,  and  right 
at  the  end  of  the  season,  and  I  hardly  expected  to  do 
anything  at  all,  having  been  warned  that  the  brook 
was  not  a  chalk  stream.  On  that  account  I  did 
not  hope  for  anything  of  a  hatch  of  fly  in  the  day- 
time. The  time  of  the  brief  evening  rise,  moreover, 
would  see  me  hurrying  to  the  station  to  begin  a 


274  TROUT  FISHING 

return  journey  across  country  which  would  be  the 
reverse  of  brief.  Circumstances,  therefore,  were 
not  favourable.  And  yet  I  had  very  good  sport, 
thanks  partly  to  a  decided  hatch  of  fly  which  came 
on  in  the  afternoon,  and  partly  to  the  eagle  eye  of  my 
friend  the  keeper,  which  was  very  swift  to  mark  a 
real  rise,  and  availed  much  in  preventing  me  from 
wasting  effort  over  water-rats  and  other  interesting 
but  irrelevant  phenomena.  In  all  I  landed  three 
and  a  half  brace  of  pretty  little  fish  running  from 
about  ten  inches  up  to  fourteen  inches,  keeping 
a  brace  and  a  half  of  the  bigger  ones  for  breakfast 
purposes.  I  had  also  the  satisfaction  of  slaying 
three  small  chub,  remnants  of  the  former  population 
of  the  stream. 

The  trout  had,  of  course,  been  turned  in  either 
that  year  or  the  year  before  (though  I  saw  a  few 
tiny  ones  on  the  shallows  that  were  probably  the 
result  of  the  last  winter's  spawning),  and  so  were 
open  to  the  imputation  of  being  stock  fish.  But 
they  had  none  of  the  silliness  characteristic  of  typical 
stock  fish.  The  influence  of  a  company  of  very 
clever  anglers  may  be  calculated  on  to  eradicate 
silliness  before  the  end  of  a  season,  especially  when 
many  trout  are  returned  to  grow  wiser  and  better. 
Lest  I  should  have  any  doubt  on  this  point  (having 
a  brace  and  a  half  in  the  basket),  the  keeper  led  me 
to  a  corner  where  there  was  a  persistent  riser  whom 


NEW  WATERS  275 

he  called  Jones.  He  insisted  on  my  angling  for 
Jones,  and  smiled  when,  after  a  considerable  time, 
I  told  him  that  angling  for  Jones  had  no  interest 
for  me.  And  on  our  return  journey  an  hour  later 
he  said,  "  Better  have  another  cast  at  Jones,  sir. 
He's  still  rising."  But  I  told  him  the  truth.  I 
was  not  man  enough  for  Jones,  or  he  was  too  much 
of  a  trout  for  me. 

There  was  another  fish,  too — Robinson  hight,  I 
think.  His  story  is  not  without  humour.  Quite 
early  in  the  afternoon  the  keeper  had  been  telling 
me  of  the  many  attainments  of  the  fish  on  the  upper 
water.  "  There  is  one,"  he  said,  "  whom  we  call 
Robinson,  and  he  won't  let  you  get  within  forty 
yards  of  him."  I  put  this  fact  away  in  my  mind, 
and  thought  no  more  of  it  till  about  half -past  four. 
Then  it  recurred  to  me.  From  the  distance  we 
had  seen  many  rings  oft  repeated.  "  There's  one," 
said  the  keeper  with  much  eagerness,  and  he  inti- 
mated that  if  I  wanted  to  make  up  my  two  brace 
now  was  the  time.  Needless  to  say  I  at  once  made 
ready  to  cover  the  trout,  and  crept  up  to  within 
casting  distance.  After  waiting  there  for  some 
minutes  I  looked  round.  "  Is  that  the  trout  that 
won't  let  you  get  within  forty  yards  ?  "  I  asked. 
14  Is  that,  in  fact,  Robinson?"  And  a  smiling 
face  assured  me  that  it  was. 

That  little  stream  still  goes  on  successfully  after 


276  TROUT  FISHING 

several  years,  though  I  believe  it  knew  trouble 
incidental  to  the  later  years  of  the  War  (it  was  not 
alone  in  that),  and  it  may  be  cited  as  a  satisfactory 
example  of  what  can  be  done.  I  am  quite  sure  that 
its  story  could  also  be  told  of  other  small  streams 
if  they  were  treated  in  a  similar  manner.  It  is 
important  to  realise  that  its  improvement  does  not 
only  consist  in  the  introduction  of  trout,  but  also 
in  the  establishment  of  a  good  show  of  fly,  both 
duns  and  sedges.  This  is  presumably  due  in  part 
to  the  introduction  of  suitable  weeds,  of  which 
I  believe  good  store  was  brought  from  the  Itchen. 
Another  experiment  in  the  creation  of  trout 
fishing  which  is  of  interest  is  the  making  of  a  fishery 
by  what  may  be  called  force  majeure.  The  Thorney 
Weir  water  at  West  Drayton  has  afforded  the  most 
notable  instance  of  this.  The  Colne  used  in  old  days 
to  be  one  of  the  finest  trout  rivers  in  the  south  of 
England.  What  it  was  like  is  shown  by  the  chapter 
in  Sir  Humphry  Davy's  Salmonia  which  describes 
Mayfly  fishing  at  Denham.  But  there  has  been  a 
sad  falling  off  since  then.  During  the  twenty 
years  or  so  that  I  have  known  it  myself  I  should 
never  have  described  it  as  a  trout  stream,  though 
it  has  always  held  a  certain  number  of  trout. 
Latterly  it  seems  obvious  that  abstraction  of  water 
combined  with  a  good  deal  of  pollution  has  made 
the  chances  of  trout  worse  than  ever.  The  prob- 


NEW  WATERS  277 

ability  is  that  though  older  fish  may  contrive  to  get 
along  well  enough  in  some  parts  of  it,  the  ova  and 
fry  stand  a  poor  chance.  A  big  head  of  coarse 
fish  naturally  adds  to  their  difficulties. 

The  experiments  at  Thorney  Weir  were  based 
on  the  theory  that  to  get  trout  fishing  on  a  big  scale 
it  must  be,  so  to  say,  ready-made,  and  as  a  result 
a  sort  of  tour  de  farce  was  accomplished.  Mudding 
was  performed  on  an  extensive  scale  and  gravel 
was  laid  down  in  places.  And  then  stocking  was 
carried  out  in  the  grand  manner.  In  the  first  year 
over  two  thousand  big  trout  were  released.  Seven 
hundred  of  them  weighed  from  three  pounds  to 
about  four  and  a  half  pounds  and  many  others 
were  from  fourteen  to  sixteen  inches  in  length. 
In  later  years  this  colossal  business  was  repeated 
and  even  bigger  fish  were  turned  in — up  to  seven 
pounds  or  more. 

The  result,  of  course,  was  remarkable  fishing — 
after  its  kind — and  the  weekly  reports  contained 
lists  of  monsters,  all  captured  on  the  dry  fly.  The 
trout  fishing  had  certainly  been  "  made  "  success- 
fully. The  work  was  interfered  with  by  the  War 
and  at  last  it  became  impossible  to  get  big  stock 
fish  from  the  hatcheries,  so  the  Thorney  Weir  fishing 
is,  as  I  write,  marking  time.  I  understand,  however, 
that  the  present  owner  intends  to  re-establish  it  as 
soon  as  conditions  permit. 


278  TROUT  FISHING 

The  prejudice  against  big  hand-fed  trout  that 
undoubtedly  exists  may  lead  many  people  to  question 
the  value  of  such  stocking  when  it  has  been  done. 
It  must  be  conceded  that  the  whole  business  is 
artificial,  which  is  against  it.  But  there  is  a  great 
deal  to  be  said  on  the  other  side  in  this  instance. 
In  the  first  place,  by  no  other  plan  could  the  fishery 
have  been  turned  into  a  heavily-stocked  trout  water 
at  once;  possibly  by  no  other  plan  could  it  have 
been  turned  into  a  heavily-stocked  trout  water  at 
all.  Further,  the  water  is  only  half  an  hour  away 
from  London,  and  it  is  obvious  that  even  artificial 
trout  fishing  within  such  easy  reach  is  a  very  valu- 
able thing.  The  fact  that  practically  all  the  rods 
available  were  taken  up  at  once  shows  that  the 
opportunity  was  keenly  appreciated.  When  you 
have  a  water  on  the  Test  which  is  capable  of  growing 
trout  easily,  quickly,  and  naturally  to  a  large  size, 
the  big  deteriorating  stock  fish  is  almost  certainly 
a  mistake;  but  the  Colne,  with  its  long  tradition 
of  coarse  fish,  is  in  a  very  different  category  at 
present. 

I  had  one  or  two  opportunities  of  observing  the 
results  in  different  years  and  was  not  so  impressed 
with  the  idea  of  fishing  for  tame  fish  as  I  expected 
to  be.  They  were  rather  easier  to  catch  than  wild 
fish,  perhaps,  but  not  much.  Anyhow  I  failed 
dismally  to  allure  any  of  the  monsters,  and  I  came 


NEW  WATERS  279 

to  the  conclusion  that  even  the  most  artificial  of 
trout  very  soon  acquire  a  sense  of  discrimination. 
A  few  weeks  of  hard  fishing  will  teach  them  a  lot 
about  the  ways  of  the  world. 

There  was  one  feature  about  the  stocking  at 
Thorney  Weir  which  struck  me  as  worth  noting 
for  other  places.  When  all  the  big  fish  were  first 
turned  in  they  were  not  left  to  fend  for  themselves 
but  received  a  daily  allowance  of  artificial  food. 
This  allowance,  liberal  to  begin  with,  was  gradually 
decreased,  the  idea  being  that  as  the  fish  became 
accustomed  to  their  new  quarters  they  would 
make  more  and  more  use  of  the  food-supplies  they 
found  there;and  so  would  be  less  dependant  on  hand- 
feeding.  I  believe  the  theory  worked  out  all  right 
in  practice. 

It  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that  there  can  be 
many  attempts  to  emulate  the  Thorney  Weir  pro- 
ceedings— the  expense  would  be  prohibitive  for 
most  people — but  I  think  the  lesson  of  artificial- 
feeding  gradually  reduced  is  a  useful  one.  I  have 
more  than  once  found  that  hatchery  trout  of  con- 
siderably less  size  (say  ten  to  twelve  inches) 
take  a  long  time  to  get  acclimatised  to  a  water  and 
to  begin  to  put  on  weight.  I  think  this  must  be 
due  to  the  abrupt  cessation  of  their  accustomed 
food-supplies.  Where  the  thing  is  possible  I  believe 
it  would  make  a  great  deal  of  difference  if  they  were 


280  TROUT  FISHING 

hand-fed  for  a  time  and  weaned  gradually,  say 
in  about  six  weeks.  Then  they  should  not  receive 
the  check  to  their  growth  which  must  result  from 
a  temporary  loss  of  condition. 

Of  course  the  ideal  fish  for  stocking  are  trout 
which  have  never  had  any  artificial  food  at  all, 
or  at  any  rate  not  since  they  were  fry.  But  they 
are  very  hard  to  get  and  are  naturally  expensive, 
as  they  require  so  much  more  pond  space  in  a  fishery. 
The  fortunate  owner  of  a  trout  stream  which  runs 
in  several  channels,  as  do  some  of  the  chalk  rivers, 
can  get  the  desired  result  by  turning  fry  or  small 
yearlings  into  one  of  his  carriers  and  transferring 
them  to  the  main  river  when  they  are  big  enough. 
Something  can  also  be  done  in  a  river  itself  by 
screening  off  an  area  of  shallows,  but  this  has  its 
drawbacks.  The  screens  must  be  cleared  frequently 
and  a  flood  will  probably  upset  the  whole  arrange- 
ment. For  most  people,  however,  hand-fed  stock 
fish  are  a  necessity  and  therefore  the  question  of 
carrying  on  the  feeding  for  a  time  is  important. 

The  other  method  of  creating  trout  fishing  is  the 
one  suggested  by  the  success  of  Ravensthorpe, 
Blagdon,  and  other  artificial  lakes.  This,  on  any- 
thing like  a  big  scale,  is  a  costly  business,  but  in  a 
small  way  it  should  be  within  the  scope  of  some 
landowners,  and  I  expect  that  the  future  will  see 
a  considerable  increase  in  the  number  of  artificial 


NEW  WATERS  281 

trout  waters.  Such  a  fishery  as  that  of  the  Enton 
Fly  Fishing  Club  in  Surrey  encourages  similar 
schemes  elsewhere.  Engineering  difficulties  apart, 
it  seems  such  a  simple  matter  to  dam  a  small  valley 
and  so  to  cover  a  few  acres  of  land  permanently 
with  water  that  the  proceeding  must  commend 
itself,  especially  as  trout  grow  very  well  on  such 
submerged  land. 

The  chief  thing  to  aim  at  in  the  management 
of  such  fisheries  is,  I  imagine,  ensuring  a  periodical 
lowering  of  part  of  the  water  so  that  the  land  may 
be  dry  for  a  time.  Then  with  a  renewal  of  rich 
vegetation  it  seems  to  renew  its  power  of  fattening 
the  fish.  If  such  an  alteration  of  levels  is  not 
feasible  probably  the  best  policy  is  to  ensure  a  strong 
growth  of  useful  water  plants,  and  the  stock  of 
food  which  they  promote,  before  any  fish  are  put 
into  the  water.  Then  they  are  less  likely  to  deterior- 
ate after  this  initial  rapidity  of  development.  One 
more  safeguard  has  always  seemed  to  me  very 
desirable,  the  screening-off  of  certain  shallow  areas 
as  food  nurseries.  If  larvae,  shrimps,  snails,  etc., 
have  sanctuaries  into  which  the  fish,  or  at  any  rate 
the  bigger  fish,  cannot  pursue  them,  they  will 
increase  very  rapidly,  and  so  the  rest  of  the  water 
will  always  receive  the  surplus  stock  as  it  spreads 
beyond  the  borders  of  the  protected  areas. 

Though  there  is,  as  I  have  said,  not  enough  trout 


282  TROUT  FISHING 

fishing  to  go  round  at  present,  I  believe  it  rests 
with  trout  fishers  to  make  more,  and  it  can  be  done 
in  the  ways  suggested.  The  secret,  for  anglers 
of  small  means,  is  co-operation  and  hard  work 
intelligently  applied. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ODDS     AND     ENDS 

IT  is,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  rather  odd  that 
on  some  fisheries  the  standard  of  retainable  trout 
is  one  of  weight,  while  on  others  it  is  one  of  length. 
Would  it  not  be  better  if  clubs  and  fishery  owners 
all  had  a  length  standard?  Supposing  you  have 
a  standard  of  one  pound  and  catch  a  fish  of  fifteen 
and  three-quarter  ounces  or  sixteen  and  a  quarter 
ounces,  you  could  not  venture  to  retain  it  (nor 
would  you  lightly  return  it)  without  first  ascertaining 
whether  it  really  reached  the  lawful  pound.  That 
would  mean  weighing  it,  and  that  would  mean  a 
great  deal  of  unnecessary  handling  and  messing 
about  which  is  not  good  for  the  fish  if  it  proves  to 
be  below  the  specified  weight. 

There  may  be  ways  of  attaching  the  hook  of  a 
spring  balance  to  a  trout  which  are  unobjectionable 
(if  it  is  going  back  into  the  water),  but  I  do  not  know 
them.  The  best,  I  suppose,  is  just  to  hang  the  trout 
on  the  balance  by  the  gill  cover,  but  if  the  fish  gives 
a  kick  when  hanging  a  serious  wound  to  the  gills 
may  be  the  result.  If  it  has  been  out  of  the  water 

283 


284  TROUT  FISHING 

long  enough  to  have  no  kick  left  in  it,  when  you 
return  it  you  will  have  to  nurse  it  back  to  life,  a 
tedious  process  to  yourself  and  also  probably  not 
too  good  for  the  trout.  To  have  been  half  suffocated 
cannot  have  a  beneficial  effect  on  any  living  creature. 

If  you  must  weigh  a  fish,  the  best  plan  is  to  do  so 
in  a  wet  duster,  having  previously  ascertained  the 
weight  of  the  duster.  Or,  of  course,  it  would  be 
possible  to  construct  a  little  weighing  net  with  two 
strips  of  wire  and  a  piece  of  muslin.  This  would 
be  a  useful  thing  to  carry,  and  would  take  up  no 
space.  The  landing-net  might  be  employed,  but  if 
your  spring  balance  only  registers  up  to  some  four 
pounds,  it  would  in  some  cases  prove  too  heavy. 
Whatever  your  receptacle,  it  should  not  weigh  more 
than  a  few  ounces.  One  thing,  however,  is  certain, 
and  that  is  that  a  fish  which  may  have  to  be  returned 
ought  not  to  be  attached  directly  to  a  spring  balance, 
and  probably  a  good  deal  of  harm  has  been  done 
where  such  a  custom  is  in  vogue. 

It  is  obviously  better  to  have  a  length  standard, 
and  either  to  carry  a  measure  or  have  one  marked 
on  the  landing-net  handle.  The  moment  a  fish 
is  on  the  grass  you  can  measure  it  and  decide  at 
once  whether  it  is  sizeable  or  not,  in  the  latter  case 
slipping  it  back  into  the  water  without  delay.  The 
only  objection  to  the  length  standard  that  I  can  see 
is  in  the  case  of  ill-conditioned  fish  which  do  not 


ODDS   AND  ENDS  285 

weigh  as  much  as  they  ought.  In  the  early  part  of 
the  season,  of  course,  such  trout  ought  to  be  returned. 
Possibly  it  would  be  practicable  to  have  a  girth  and 
length  formula.  With  a  tape  measure  it  would 
take  very  little  time  to  ascertain  both  dimensions. 
But  as  a  rule  the  length  measurement  ought  to 
suffice.  The  weight  of  trout  varies  in  different 
localities,  but  on  the  chalk  streams  the  following 
scale  should  be  approximately  correct :  11  in.,  8  oz. 
to  10  oz. ;  12  in.,  10  oz.  to  12  oz. ;  13  in.,  13  oz.  to 
16  oz. ;  14  in.,  1  Ib.  1  oz.  to  1  Ib.  4  oz. ;  15  in.,  1  Ib.  4  oz. 
to  l£  Ib. ;  16  in.,  l£  Ib.  to  If  Ib.  Well-fed  fish  from 
such  streams  ought  always  to  be  nearer  the  higher 
weights  given,  and,  of  course,  now  and  then  they 
are  much  above  them.  The  late  Mr.  Halford  in  one 
of  his  books  mentions  a  Wandle  trout  fifteen  inches 
long  which  weighed  three  pounds  two  ounces,  but 
that  must  have  been  a  sort  of  freak,  even  among  the 
old  Wandle  trout,  which  were  very  heavy  for  their 
length. 

It  is,  I  think,  worth  while  laying  some  stress  on 
the  fact  that  a  good  deal  of  harm  is  done  to  under- 
sized trout  which  have  to  be  returned  by  inexpert 
handling.  Some  men  never  seem  to  acquire  the 
knack  of  holding  a  fish  gently  and  yet  with  that 
even  pressure  of  all  the  fingers  which  ensures  a 
sufficient  grasp.  Nothing  like  a  "  clutch  "  is  ever 
required.  The  thing  to  aim  at  is  to  poise  the  fish 


286  TROUT  FISHING 

at  the  point  of  balance,  the  fkigers  serving  as  little 
more  than  supports.  It  seems  to  me  that  there 
must  be  some  affinity  between  the  correct  method 
of  holding  a  trout  out  of  the  water  and  the  delicate 
manipulation  of  the  sportsman  who  smears  his 
arm  with  clay  and  embarks  on  the  business  of 
"  tickling  "  one  under  water.  Anyhow  I  am  sure 
that  when  held  properly  a  fish  even  out  of  the  water 
will  struggle  comparatively  little,  and  this  makes 
a  lot  of  difference  in  the  heartiness  with  which  it 
resumes  life  when  returned. 

Sometimes,  in  hot  weather  or  after  a  long  fight, 
a  returned  trout  shows  no  heartiness,  but  rather  a 
pessimistic  tendency  to  lie  on  its  back  and  give  up 
all  attempts  to  live.  In  that  case  it  must  be  coaxed 
by  being  held  in  the  proper  position  with  its  head  up- 
stream until  it  decides  that  life  is  worth  while  after 
all.  In  obstinate  cases  a  gentle  movement  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  the  water  seems  to  stimulate 
the  action  of  the  gills,  but  as  a  rule  it  is  enough  to 
hold  the  trout  in  the  proper  position  for  a  minute 
or  two.  If  time  is  precious,  as  when  the  big  fish 
have  just  begun  to  feed  properly  on  the  Mayfly, 
first  aid  can  be  given  by  propping  the  sufferer  up 
against  the  bank  with  a  bit  of  stick  which  is  stuck 
into  the  bed  of  the  stream. 

This  matter  of  returning  fish  has  provoked  a 
good  deal  of  discussion  on  account  of  its  presumed 


ODDS   AND  ENDS  287 

results  on  the  fishing.  The  contention  is  that  too 
much  returning  makes  trout  bad  risers  and  that 
the  sport  suffers  by  a  large  proportion  of  the  older 
fish  being  abnormally  suspicious.  There  may  be 
something  in  this,  but  I  do  not  think  it  a  very 
serious  risk.  Fish  have  not  long  memories  and  I 
doubt  if  the  sense  of  perils  past  lasts  through  the 
close  time  into  a  new  season.  A  grave  objection  to 
returning  fish  is  the  possible  physical  effects  of  mis- 
handling. This  will  almost  certainly  affect  the 
condition  of  the  trout,  interfere  with  that  good 
digestion  which  is  necessary  to  their  growth,  and  so 
prevent  their  becoming  sizeable  in  the  normal  time. 
I  suspect  that  some  of  the  lanky,  ill-conditioned 
creatures  which  are  found  in  our  rivers  are  fish 
which  have  been  injured  in  this  way. 

While  one  admits  that  returning  trout  may  have 
bad  results,  it  is  difficult  to  see  what  alternative  there 
is,  at  any  rate  for  waters  which  are  much  fished 
and  where  the  stock  is  not  practically  unlimited. 
A  suggestion  that  anglers  should  keep  everything 
they  catch  would  plainly  be  impracticable.  The 
best  policy  seems  to  be  to  adopt  the  length  rather 
than  the  weight  standard,  and  to  add,  if  possible,  a 
few  precepts  to  the  rules,  one  being  that  where  a 
rising  fish  is  plainly  undersized  (on  the  dry-fly 
rivers,  at  least,  this  is  generally  pretty  obvious), 
the  angler  should  refrain  from  casting  to  it,  and 


288  TROUT  FISHING 

another  that  due  care  should  be  taken  in  unhooking 
and  handling  any  trout  which  is  not  to  be  kept. 
Perhaps  a  third  might  be  that  it  is  undesirable  to 
fish  consciously  for  trout  which  have  recently  been 
turned  in,  even  though  they  do  not  come  quite 
within  the  category  of  small  ones.  Where  a  size- 
limit  is,  say,  twelve  inches  and  the  new  stock  fish  run 
up  to  eleven  inches,  the  temptation  to  see  sizeable 
trout  rising  everywhere  is  considerable.  It  may 
perhaps  be  considered  absurd  to  suggest  differentia- 
tion between  a  stock  fish  of  eleven  inches  and  an  old 
inhabitant  of  about  the  same  size,  but  the  feat  is 
not  difficult  really  while  the  stock  fish  are  new  to  the 
water,  which  is  the  period  that  matters.  There  is 
no  mistaking  their  splashy  and  "  unfinished  "  way 
of  rising  after  one  has  studied  it  a  little.  I  admit, 
however,  that  abstinence  may  be  a  hard  doctrine. 
The  stock  fish  will  display  themselves  when  no  other 
fish  are  rising  and  the  angler  always  hopes  for  the 
best! 

Trout  are  worth  careful  treatment  while  they  are 
alive,  and  they  are  also  worth  careful  treatment 
when  they  are  dead — death  by  the  way  should  be 
administered  promptly  when  the  fish  has  been 
landed,  before  even  the  fly  has  been  extracted.  Two 
or  three  smart  taps  on  the  back  of  the  head,  given 
with  a  small  weighted  stick  or  even  the  end  of  a 
spring  balance,  will  do  what  is  required — as  they  are, 


ODDS   AND  ENDS  289 

in  a  manner  of  speaking,  valuable  property,  and  even 
though  their  captor  may  not  appreciate  their  flavour 
himself,  there  are  numberless  people  to  whom  they 
would  come  as  a  real  treat,  perhaps  a  greater  treat 
than  salmon.  Though  trout  make  their  appearance 
in  the  market,  they  are  not  so  essentially  a  feature 
of  the  stalls  or  slabs  as  their  larger  cousins,  and  the 
sale  of  trout,  luckily  for  our  waters,  is  a  relatively 
small  affair. 

The  angler  should  always  treat  his  fish  with 
respect  after  he  has  caught  them  so  that  their  edible 
value  may  not  be  in  any  way  lessened.  Probably 
the  best  method  of  treating  them  after  they  have 
been  killed  is  to  wrap  them  in  a  dry  cloth.  Paper  is, 
however,  equally  good  as  a  covering  and  will  serve 
quite  well  if  the  cloth  has  been  forgotten.  Some 
men  carry  a  linen  bag  to  hold  their  fish,  which  is  a 
good  plan.  Failing  either  cloth  or  paper,  the  creel 
may  be  lined  with  rushes,  and  more  rushes  may  be 
sprinkled  over  the  fish,  or  a  dockleaf  or  two  will 
serve  to  keep  them  cool  and  protect  them  from  a 
hot  sun.  Grass  seems  to  be  very  bad  for  fish,  which 
is  a  pity,  as  it  shows  them  off  to  advantage.  Hay 
would  be  better  if  it  is  easily  to  be  got,  the  main 
thing  being  to  keep  the  trout  dry  as  well  as  cool. 

In  very  hot  weather  the  angler  would  be  well 
advised  to  clean  his  fish  at  once,  if  he  can  bring 
himself  to  do  so.  It  is  in  the  stomach  that  decom- 


290  TROUT  FISHING 

position  first  starts,  so  it  is  obvious  that  if  the  intes- 
tines be  removed  the  fish  will  keep  fresh  considerably 
longer.  The  trouble  of  course  is  that  most  anglers 
do  not  like  to  spoil  the  look  of  their  trophies  so  soon, 
especially  if  they  expect  to  have  to  display  them  to 
admiring  eyes  later.  Cleaning  fish  is  rather  a  messy 
job,  which  consorts  but  ill  with  the  poetical  side 
of  fly  fishing  though  it  enables  the  fisherman  to 
investigate  the  food  which  has  been  taken — a  pro- 
ceeding recommended  by  some  experts.  In  any 
case,  however,  the  trout  should  be  cleaned  before 
they  are  sent  by  post  or  rail  to  friends,  and  their 
chances  are  improved  if  a  little  salt  or  vinegar  be 
sprinkled  inside,  especially  along  the  backbone. 

Different  anglers,  of  course,  have  different  ideas  as 
to  the  receptacle  which  is  most  comfortable  for 
carrying  fish.  It  is  not  easy  to  improve  on  the 
ordinary  wicker  creel  so  far  as  efficiency  goes.  It 
admits  of  ventilation,  does  not  crush  its  contents, 
and  does  not  get  unduly  hot.  The  only  things 
against  it  are  its  size,  shape,  and  weight.  It  is 
certainly  not  the  most  comfortable  thing  in  the 
world  to  carry,  though  it  is  greatly  improved  by  a 
combined  waist  and  shoulder  strap  which  eases 
the  shoulder  of  a  lot  of  weight.  The  ordinary 
waterproof  partitioned  fishing  bag  is  more  com- 
fortable than  the  creel,  and  it  is  very  convenient 
for  carrying  impedimenta  as  well  as  fish,  but  it  is 


ODDS   AND  ENDS  291 

apt  to  be  rather  heavy.  Also  in  the  height  of 
summer  it  must  be  a  very  hot  abiding  place  for  such 
delicate  flesh  as  that  of  the  trout.  The  bag  is 
excellent  for  winter  fishing  and  the  colder  days  of 
spring  and  autumn,  but  it  leaves  a  good  deal  to  be 
desired  in  summer  so  far  as  keeping  the  fish  in  good 
condition  goes. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  the  simplest  things  are 
also  the  best,  and  this  occurred  to  me  when  I  first 
saw  a  friend  equipped  with  the  light  rush  basket 
which  fishmongers  call  a  "  frail  "  or  "  bass."  There 
can  be  nothing  better  for  fish  than  this,  as  long 
commercial  usage  testifies,  and  why  should  not  the 
angler  have  the  benefit  of  so  excellent  an  article  ? 
On  the  score  of  weight  alone  it  is  worth  a  trial, 
weight  being  very  important  on  hot  days.  The 
two  handles  in  the  middle  are  not  perhaps  quite 
adapted  for  fishing  purposes,  but  it  is  quite  easy  to 
remove  them  and  attach  rings  at  more  convenient 
points  to  which  could  be  fastened  the  ends  of  a 
shoulder  strap.  Of  course  the  bass  offers  no  con- 
venience for  carrying  tackle  and  lunch — it  is  purely 
a  receptacle  for  fish — but  a  fishing-coat  has,  or  should 
have,  big  pockets,  and  if  they  are  not  enough  it  is 
always  possible  to  carry  a  small  haversack  as  well 
as  the  bass.  The  two  together  will  not  weigh  so 
much  as  a  creel  or  bag  whose  capacity  would  be  no 
greater.  I  believe  that  an  angler  who  has  once  got 


292  TROUT  FISHING 

accustomed  to  a  bass  will  not  readily  take  to  any 
other  form  of  receptacle  in  hot  weather. 

In  a  book  of  this  sort  I  do  not  think  there  is  any 
necessity  to  go  into  the  minutiae  of  equipment,  a 
matter  which  has  been  sufficiently  dealt  with  by 
many  competent  pens.  A  modern  catalogue  of 
fishing  tackle  shows  that  we  have  reached  a  very 
high  standard  of  efficiency  and  comfort  in  regard  to 
our  gear.  Where  development  is  most  probable  is 
in  flies.  In  a  previous  chapter  I  have  hinted  my 
belief  that  the  new  conventions  are  in  fact  more  true 
to  nature  than  the  old,  though  the  belief  does  not 
move  me  to  bonfires  or  other  drastic  action.  While 
the  trout  continue,  in  their  irresponsible  manner,  to 
rise  at  buttercups,  cigarette-ends,  defunct  lucifer 
matches,  and  other  poor  imitations  of  the  insect 
kingdom,  I  believe  I  shall  continue  to  get  as  much 
sport  as  is  good  for  me  with  the  flies  which  take  my 
own  vagrant  fancies  from  time  to  time.  Those  flies 
may  be  old,  or  they  may  be  new.  I  have  no  pre- 
judice either  way.  So  there  is  nothing  earnest  or 
useful  to  be  said  here. 

There  are,  however,  just  a  few  things  connected 
with  equipment  on  which  I  have  definite  views,  as 
I  am  sure  that  they  have  had  a  considerable  influence 
on  my  fishing.  One  relates  to  reel-lines  and  it  is  of 
more  importance  to  novices  than  to  old  hands. 
When  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  do  my  fly  fishing  with 


ODDS   AND   ENDS  293 

any  line — a  fly  fishing  line  was,  I  supposed,  a  thin 
one,  as  opposed  to  a  pike  fishing  line  which  was 
a  thick  one.  Everybody  knew,  of  course,  what 
ravening  monsters  were  those  pike,  much  like 
crocodiles  in  fact.  I  pegged  away  with  my  thin 
lines  and  used,  I  remember,  to  be  much  bothered 
when  an  extra  long  cast  had  to  be  made. 

In  course  of  time  I  was  introduced  to  the  dry 
fly  and  incidentally  to  the  heavier  line  which  so 
many  of  the  masters  used,  and  then  I  got  my  first 
understanding  of  the  essence  of  casting  which  is  the 
balance  between  rod  and  line,  and  also  of  the  excel- 
lent device  of  "  shooting  "  a  yard  or  so  which  saves 
so  much  labour.  The  increase  of  comfort  and  ease 
brought  about  by  using  a  heavier  line  impressed 
me  so  much,  that  I  came  to  the  conclusion  (by 
which  I  still  abide)  that  no  novice  ought  ever  to 
begin  his  career  with  a  light  one.  Later,  it  is  a 
different  matter.  A  light  line  has  many  advantages 
in  fishing.  But  having  learnt  the  mechanics  of 
casting  with  a  heavy  one  a  man  has  no  difficulty 
in  adapting  himself  to  the  other.  The  point  is  that 
he  should  learn  in  comfort  and  without  tears,  and 
to  this  end  the  heavy  line  (suited  to  the  rod  of 
course)  doth  marvellously  contribute. 

I  have  certain  fixed  ideas  concerning  gut  also, 
elementary  enough,  no  doubt,  but  still  from  my 
observations  new  to  some  people.  The  wet-fly  collar 


294  TROUT  FISHING 

of  these  flies  for  instance  is  often  level.  If  tapered 
it  follows  the  convention  of  a  dry-fly  cast  and  tapers 
very  gradually.  Both  these  fashions  are,  I  am  sure, 
a  mistake.  A  level  three-yard  cast  of,  say,  3x  gut 
is  liable  to  bad  tangles  which  involve  the  whole  of 
it,  and  the  top  part  near  the  reel-line  is  apt  to  get 
frayed  and  worn.  Also  it  does  not  make  for  such 
accurate  delivery  as  does  a  tapered  cast. 

On  the  other  hand  the  tapered  cast,  whose  descent 
from  thick  to  fine  is  very  gradual,  offends  against 
reason  for  wet-fly  work.  When  three  flies  are  used 
not  less  than  two  feet  six  inches  apart  the  top 
dropper  will  be  found  depending  from  gut  which  is 
considerably  thicker  than  that  to  which  the  end 
fly  is  attached.  This  handicaps  the  said  dropper 
unreasonably  in  its  presentation  to  a  fish  which  has 
an  eye  for  suspicious  circumstances,  and  is  quite 
unnecessary.  As  I  see  it  a  wet-fly  collar  should 
cease  its  taper  at  a  point  at  least  a  foot  above  the 
top  dropper.  I  find  it  an  advantage  to  have  the  collar 
rather  longer  than  the  usual  three  yards,  especially 
if  three  flies  are  to  be  used,  and  so  to  get  about  four 
or  five  feet  of  taper  to  about  six  feet  of  level. 

Another  small  point — the  flies  should  not  be  dressed 
on  gut  finer  than  that  forming  the  untapered  part 
of  the  cast.  If  they  are  there  is,  I  think,  more  risk 
of  breakages,  especially  with  the  droppers.  Indeed, 
when  using  eyed  flies  as  droppers  I  always  attach 


ODDS   AND  ENDS  295 

them  to  links  one  grade  stronger  than  the  end  of 
the  cast,  as  it  makes  them  stand  out  better  and 
there  are  less  tangles. 

The  only  special  point  about  dry-fly  casts,  in 
which  my  practice  seems  to  differ  from  that  of  other 
anglers  whom  I  meet,  is  that  in  calm  weather  or 
following  winds  I  use  a  length  which  some  of  them 
seem  to  think  excessive,  eleven  or  even  twelve 
feet.  F.  M.  Halford  recommended  this  to  me  as  a 
remedy  for  cracking- off  flies  and  an  aid  to  delivering 
them  without  a  bang,  and  I  have  found  it  so  helpful 
that  I  possibly  now  carry  the  plan  to  extremes. 
I  must  own  to  having  sometimes  had  difficulties  in 
landing  trout  when  a  twelve -foot  cast  has  been 
associated  with  a  nine-foot  rod. 

Of  the  many  "  tips "  which  the  years  have 
brought  to  me  from  one  source  or  another  I  think 
the  discovery  of  Amadou,  that  admirable  fungus, 
is  one  of  the  best.  The  most  ingenious  fisherman, 
the  late  Mr.  Basil  Field,  first  gave  me  a  small  piece 
of  Amadou,  but  he  did  not  tell  me  what  it  was. 
I  got  the  impression  that  it  was  some  very  scarce 
and  precious  material  from  France.  My  little 
piece  was  worn  out  in  a  short  time  and  I  mourned 
it  sincerely  for  some  years.  Then  one  day  another 
most  ingenious  fisherman,  Dr.  W.  J.  Turrell,  the 
authority  on  old  angling  authors,  led  me  into  a 
chemist's  shop  in  Oxford  and  revealed  to  me  great 


296  TROUT  FISHING 

heaps  of  what  I  had  supposed  to  be  about  as  plentiful 
as  radium.  It  was  a  glad  moment. 

It  was  still  some  time,  however,  before  the  full 
merits  of  Amadou  were  revealed  to  me.  I  used  it 
for  drying  flies  with  pleasure  and  profit,  but  never 
thought  of  further  use  for  it  till  some  correspondent 
wrote  to  The  Field  to  suggest  that  it  would  prove 
a  remedy  for  a  sodden  line.  The  sinking  line  had 
always  been  one  of  my  chief  bugbears  in  dry-fly 
fishing,  and  I  used  sometimes  to  cumber  myself  with 
a  second  reel,  in  case  the  first  failed  me  after  a  few 
hours  of  casting.  But  Amadou  has  quite  removed 
the  necessity  for  that.  It  will  dry  a  line,  so  that, 
after  a  new  application  of  grease,  it  will  float  almost 
as  long  as  it  did  when  the  day  began.  An  admirable 
fungus  indeed. 

It  is  tempting  to  take  up  a  tackle  catalogue  and 
work  slowly  through  its  contents,  dwelling  on  the 
virtues  of  fly-boxes  with  transparent  lids,  on  reels 
with  melodious  voices,  on  handy  folding-nets,  on 
agate  rings,  and  other  excellent  devices  for  increasing 
the  happiness  of  the  angler.  But  there  would 
really  be  no  end  to  it,  and  this  book  is  a  thing  which, 
however  imperfect  in  other  respects,  must,  at  any 
rate,  be  perfect  in  one — its  reader  must  be  able  to 
say  at  a  given  point,  "  Well,  that  really  is  all." 

This  is  so  important  that  I  will  withhold  that 
satisfaction  from  him  no  longer. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


AUG  14  1936 

•-•••..  :    ii 

M      2?  :  - 

• 

*/>    ; 

MAR    5    1943 

JAN    2    1946 

LD  21-100m-8,'34 

VC   12340 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


